


The arrangement

by phisen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Mystery, Smut, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phisen/pseuds/phisen
Summary: “I can offer you anything. All you have to do is ask.”“Anything?”“Tsk-tsk, what did I tell you about questions? But yes, I will offer you anything. If you obey me. But if you fail to obey me, I’ll leave.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

He’s early. Being early gives him some kind of calm, because he feels in control. If he wants, he could stay. Endure those moments before it happens, feed on the indescribable high of anticipation and the arousing tension. But, being early gives him another choice as well. He could leave. He could act on the feeling in his gut, the one that writhes and coils, the one telling him to make it stop before it goes too far.

His hand ends up in his pocket. He feels the business card, stiff to the touch. How the perfectly matte surface of the off white rectangle feels slightly coarse against his fingertips. How the off white but high gloss font feels like polished glass. He knows what it says, it spells out nothing more than a cryptic word. One that etched itself into his mind ever since he laid eyes on it.

_Rapture._

He gets lost in remembering. How he found it, in an unmarked envelope on the floor. How the weight of the paper felt as he held it for the first time. How he marvelled about the look of the card, about the choice of font, how the matte and the gloss looked together. How he flipped the card over and saw the small, barely legible, sequence of numbers printed on the back. How he had reached for his mobile, how he had started to enter the number and how he changed his mind.

The card stayed on the kitchen table, untouched but demanding the opposite, until later that evening. It was as if its pleas became louder, more insistent, with the increasing amount of alcohol muddling his system.

The dial tone reached fours beeps. Five. Six. As his thumb hovered over the hang up icon, his mobile in his hand rather than to his ear, they stopped. The beeps stopped, they really did, and became interrupted by a wordless pause. Hesitantly, he brought his mobile back to his ear, and felt a thickness. A pressing, overwhelming thickness although nothing still was being said.

_“Hello?”_

He held his breath as his body reacted to the voice on the other end. It sounded humming, low and suggestive, despite nothing but a single word had been said. He had felt a shiver down his spine, one that took him over. Not just making his exterior shudder.

 _“You must be curious,”_ the voice continued. _“We can remedy that. If you want.”_

“I…” His tongue felt stuck to the ceiling of his mouth. In desperation, he tried to whisk his tongue around in his mouth with the intention of being able to swallow. The seconds that passed by acted as painful reminders to how awkward he felt, how the feeling relentlessly multiplied with every passing beat inside his chest.

 _“You don’t have to talk, but I want you to listen,”_ the voice calmly continued, not fazed at all by the silence. _“Now that you’ve called, I want us to meet. Why, you might ask? It’s simple. You’re curious. You are ready.”_

The voice died out for a few seconds. He heard a faint gulp, like the owner of the voice had taken a drink.

_“I will make a reservation in my name, for your discretion. All you need to do is to be on time. On time with an open mind. Do you think you can do that?”_

“I… I can.”

 _“Good.”_ The voice suddenly had a lavish tone, one that dripped of praise. _“Good, I like that.”_

“Wh-where should Iㅡ”

_“You are beyond interested. Eager too, that’s amazing. This is your number?”_

“Yes.”

_“I’ll text you the details. It won’t take long.”_

“Do I have toㅡ”

 _“All you have to do is to be on time, just like I said. I can’t wait to meet you.”_ The voice paused, just briefly, before a small chuckle disrupted the quiet. _”Bye.”_

And just like that, he’s brought back by a noise that makes him start. He feels the skin of his face prickle when he notices that the sound came from the outside, a strange embarrassment taking over because he’s still alone, still anticipating, still hanging on to the strange expectation that this, whatever _this_ is, might be all that is going to happen. Even though he doesn’t want it to.

He takes a few steps into the room and runs a hand through his hair, childishly hoping that the motion will rake away the feeling of discomfort. He’s in unknown waters, uncharted territories now, and that makes him more perceptive. More aware. Of not only himself, but his surroundings.

He’s seen some hotels in Russia, the cheaper ones having nothing but a bed and a simple chair, but this, is different. The room is ostentatious, almost over the top with its design. The room is half-moon shaped, light and airy, with heavy gray drapes framing the windows. The largest piece of furniture in the room is the bed, placed directly underneath one of the windows. It’s also round, he notices, and small specks of light are dancing on the embroidered bed throw. He doesn’t have to raise his head to see the chandelier, so he turns to his right to see a lightly coloured sofa shoved into the room’s only corner, with a flower arrangement in bold colours on the side table acting as an eye catching contrast.

He continues his slow turn and notices the glass wall, which acts as an invisible divide to the bathroom. He sees the bathtub, the shower behind another glass wall and the toilet. It’s like they’re on display almost opposite the bed. He cringes. He can’t stand the thought of being watched in any way, shape or form, and the glass does nothing for the privacy needed. He decides that he won’t use any of the facilities.  

To him, the room looks more like a design showroom than an actual hotel room, and the thought that slithers its way into his consciousness coaxes him into not to disrupting the order of things by sitting down or taking up space in any way.

So, he stands. Stands next to a lightly coloured armchair with a thin, probably expensive, blanket thrown over the backrest, as he looks out. Ever so slowly, as dusk claims what the sun left behind, the city comes to life as light after light adds to the illuminating backdrop. Briefly, his mind wanders off and makes up stories to every small flicker he sees, and it feels strangely comfortable. Soothing in a way, for it keeps him occupied.

His eyes try to adjust to the creeping darkness. Instead of stifling the impulse to turn on the lights, he picks up his mobile phone and finds the text. The one that promptly arrived after he’d hung up, the day before.

**_  
_ **

**_From: Unknown_ **

**_I want you at the Akyan, Ulitsa Vosstaniya 19._ **

**_The room is booked in the name Nikiforov._ **

**_I’ve asked the front desk to give you a key. Please, make yourself_ **

**_comfortable.  Have a drink, maybe something to eat. I’ll_ **

**_be there at 19:00 sharp, I advise you to be there_ **

**_earlier. If you’re not there when I arrive, I_ **

**_will leave and the room will be on you._ **

**_One more thing._ **

**_Dress nicely. I like suits. -V_ **

 

And then, he hears it. The muted click behind him, the louder noise of the door handle being pressed down and the soft hiss of the door opening. The clack of heels against the floor, he counts them to three before he turns around.

He sees him. He sees him, but not his features due to the darkness of the room. He’s backlit, just for a few seconds, before the door closes with a sigh behind him.

“You’re here?”

Yes, it’s the same voice as before. The same intonation, the same low sound. The same suggestive deepness as he rolls on the ‘r’.

“I’m here,” he replies breathlessly, still by the window. He feels caught, like an animal of prey being cornered by something unknown to him, unable to decide what it wants with him.

He hears a chuckle, another click-clack of heels tapping the floor before that voice fills up the room in a way that outmatches the dark.

“You want it to be dark? That’s fine with me. Take a seat.”

So he does. He takes the few steps needed to reach the sofa, and sits down as far into the corner as he possibly can. Once he’s seated, he hears it again, the tapping of heels as his unrevealed company approaches him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll sit here,” he hears from the dark silhouette as he moves around and finally sits down opposite the sofa, in that lightly coloured armchair.

The thin ray of light that manages to fight its way in from the street lamps outside doesn’t disclose him. It runs diagonally across him, from his left shoulder down to his right hip. Still leaving his features teasingly out of reach.

A thick gray overcoat acts almost as a subtle frame to what’s underneath. He’s well dressed, undoubtedly so, in a dark suit that acts as a contrast to the armchair. It’s hard to tell in the meagre light source, but it’s probably three-pieced. Black, maybe.

With a small sigh, he leans back into the armchair, crossing his legs in the process. He gives his tie a pull, probably to loosen it up, before he speaks anew.

“You must have a lot of questions. Please know that I won’t answer them. You’ll only be given the information I’m about to offer you. Nothing more, nothing less. Do you understand?”

He does. He does understand, but he realises that he is indeed caught. Caught by this man opposite him, shrouded in black.

“Do you _understand_?” Even though there’s a sharpness to his voice, he doesn’t sound annoyed. More… determined than anything else.

“I-I, yes! I understand.”

“Good. Good.” He pauses, for a heartbeat, maybe two. “I’m here because you called, but in a way, you have been chosen. That’s why you received the card with the number. I’m here to make an arrangement with you. You hear?”

“Yes, but Iㅡ”

“You don’t get to ask questions.” He huffs, seemingly amused. “Just listen. I will tell you now what I can offer you. If you choose to decline, I will leave and the number you have used to reach me… well, let’s just say this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Okay?”

He nods, the smallest of movements. It seems like it was enough, since that tantalising voice continues.

“I can offer you anything. All you have to do is ask.”

“Anything?”

“Tsk-tsk, what did I tell you about questions? But yes, I will offer you anything. If you obey me. But if you fail to obey me, I’ll leave.”

He hates that he tenses up, that he lets that inhale sound between his teeth, but he’s taken by the words and their meaning. Of course, _quid pro quo_. He feels stupid that he even considered it to be anything else. He’s not sitting opposite a kind-hearted benefactor, he’s facing a businessman.

“Oh? No need to react like that,” the voice sounds with something of a teasing tone, “I’m no deviant. This is for you after all. Your pleasure.”

“Is this about sex?” He poses the question too quickly, without even thinking it through. But he has to know. He wants to know. Although, he already does.

“What if it is?”

Yes. What if it is? It wouldn’t make him less interested. Less curious. Less driven to find out more about him, the mystery sitting opposite. Quite the contrary. He turns his head, flustered by the counter question.

“It doesn’t have to be. But I would imagine that it would come down to that, eventually. Sex, that is.” The voice is almost a whisper now, like the words are either meant just for them or meant to console. To take the edge off what has already been said. But they don’t. How could they possibly?

“So,” the voice continues, a small creak from the armchair accompanying it, “do we have a deal?”

He tries to get a glance of him, of the dark silhouette, from the corner of his eye but finds himself unable to. So he turns his head and understands that there’s just one possible answer. He knows this, as the thin diagonal streak of light makes him see him. Some of him.

An icy blue eye, almost covered by a veil of silver hair. Parted lips that becomes glistening as his tongue slides across them, wetting them in anticipation.

He’s beautiful. The way his tie hangs loose, the way the triangular patch of exposed skin underneath it looks fluorescent. The way he, with a boyish smile, just sits and waits seemingly patient but everything about him says that he’s seconds away from… what? Taking what he wants, acting on self-gratification? He’s a person used to both, taking and being given in excess. That doesn’t even need an explanation or a clarification. It’s a fact, easy enough to see by just looking at him.

And how he wants to look at him.

“Deal,” he hears his own voice whisper, his heart starting to beat violently as his body realises what he’s just said yes to. His mind, not following its lead at all. Remaining blissfully oblivious.

 _“Good.”_ It’s the same opulent voice he heard on the phone. “Then… call me whenever you’re ready.”

“Wait, I need to know ifㅡ”

“You’re bad with instructions, aren’t you?” The blue and the silver disappears, shrouded by the darkness yet again. He stands up, probably tightens his tie again and possibly buttons his coat.

He panics. He knows too little, he feels, something he’s not at all comfortable with. “No, not, well, I… listen, um… Are we supposed to meet _here_ every time?”

“If you want to. I’d imagine meeting on a neutral ground feels better for someone like you. Someone torn between what’s right and what’s good. I might be wrong.” A chuckle. “From now on, it’s your choice.”

His ears are bombarded by the sound of heels again, growing muffled with every step. Then, he understands that he’s about to be left alone, so he scrambles to his feet, steps around the side table and takes a few long strides towards the door. He stops in the rectangle of light, his mind swarming and his chest heaving.

He really is beautiful, undoubtedly the epitome of the word. His build, the way he moves. His energy, that intoxicating confidence that just radiates from him. His looks... oh _, his looks_.

“Hm?” He stops, that vision of gray and blue. He looks surprised, just for a second, before a smile, the most wonderful toothy smile claims his face. “You _can_ take instructions. That’s good to know.”

“I’m Yuuri,” he blurts out, without hearing the strange compliment from seconds before. Or rather, not registering it. He wants him to know that about him. At the same time, he doesn’t want the moment to end.

“Yuuri? I’m Victor.”

They share a look before those blue eyes wander off, under the influence of the rest of his body with his head turning and his limbs making him walk away. The steps grow faint, faint, faint until they cannot be heard anymore.

He looks down and finds it to be true, as the darkness envelops him when the door slowly closes. Yes. He takes instructions very well, he thinks to himself, as he slowly loosens his tie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

When he wakes up, he doesn't recognise where he is. It doesn't take long before a couple of seconds worth of panic starts to bubble underneath his skin. Maybe even deeper inside. He feels unsafe, worried even, before he finally remembers. He stayed in the room. The room where an arrangement had been made the evening before.

He stretches out his arms and soon thereafter, his legs join in as he whines. Yes, he remembers now. How uncomfortable he'd felt once darkness enveloped the room he suddenly found himself alone in. Instead of turning on a light, he'd returned to the corner of the sofa. There, he'd huddled up like an unsure child with thoughts almost manically racing, trying to comprehend what he'd actually said yes to. After a while, the thoughts settled and left him exhausted. He hadn't found an answer, not even a clue, but he felt too spent to wonder. That's when sleep claimed him, he figures.

He sits up, feeling his body protest slightly. How appealing the sofa is to the eye, with its clean and exquisite lines, with its choice of materials used, it's not comfortable. The bed, almost across the room from where he is sitting, would have been the better choice in retrospect but yesterday, he couldn't. He couldn't find the peace of mind to take off his clothes and feel the soft embrace from the duvet. Not when knowing the reason as to why he was there, in that room in the first place.

With a heavy feeling, he stands up and takes a few steps. He almost makes it past the armchair when he feels it. It's so faint that his initial reaction is to disregard it, that he must be mistaken. But he leans over, braces himself slightly with a hand on the back of the armchair and puts his nose to the blanket, still looking almost effortlessly thrown over the backrest.

The scent makes it disappear. That last, almost miniscule idea that maybe, just maybe, the night before never happened. It did happen, his entire being understands that now as the scent of him, of  _Victor_ , is drawn down into his lungs and adheres itself to his brain on the way down. Brands it, almost. Makes it the most important smell he'd ever sensed.

He remembers his name. The muscles in his face reacts immediately, working together to produce a smile when he comes to that realisation. Not only does he remember his name, he remembers  _him_. Every small detail from the sound of his laugh to his demeanor. The way he was dressed to the way he felt in the room. He feels a clench inside, not knowing if it's his in his chest or further down, and lets out a soft groan. He wants to remember more. More of that man who indirectly has blessed him but at the same time has dragged him down into something he's fearful of, something he knows he can't escape.

Maybe, it's not a bad thing. Maybe it's… just what he needs. For now.

It is with a sigh he straightens up and leaves that blessing caught in the fibres of the blanket behind. What now?

' _Call me whenever you're ready'._

He jolts, remembering those words. Not knowing if it's because he will never feel ready, or due to the fact that he actually thinks he is. And just like that, he feels selfish. For wanting to call him. For wanting to hear him, be close to him. For wanting to see. Not only him, but what he has to offer. Which was  _anything_.

For the first time while being in that room, he decides that taking a shower behind that glass wall, that invisible divide, is the single most reasonable thing he could ever come up with.

He undoes his tie and puts it on the bed. He takes off his shoes, using toe to heel although he knows that he shouldn't and reaches down to remove his socks. He shrugs off the suit jacket, feels how it gets caught by gravity as it slides off his shoulders and his arms.

It's easy, way too easy to get lost. Lost in a wish that might come true. One that involves hands on him, purposeful hands with nothing but one mission; to caress the clothes off his body. Work their way closer to his skin.

The annoyed little sound he makes to tell himself off, to make himself focus, does what it's supposed to. With a flick, his glasses, and of course he slept with them on, are thrown on the bed with a light thump. When they bounce off and end up somewhere on the floor, he doesn't bother to look for them.

He continues to unbutton his shirt, the cuffs, before it ends up crumpled on the bed. When his fingers try to convince his belt to no get hooked as he's repeatedly trying to undo it, it's with an urgency, a speed. His bottoms fall to the floor, and as he reaches for his underwear, he fights himself.

He wins. Though it's not the rational, self-conscious and sometimes anxious part of himself that claims the victory. It's the aching, needy, prurient side of him that breaks free, seemingly in-tune with his swelling lust that does the same when he claws his underwear down his thighs.

Yesterday, he decided that he never wanted to be seen or be put on display. But as the water cascades down his back, some stray droplets falling off the tip of his nose, he wants. He wants to be seen, taken in and he knows who should be watching. As he closes his eyes, one hand on the glass and the other around himself, he makes it real. So real that he ends up leaning his forehead against the glass wall, his hair sticking to it, when wave upon wave of torturous release crashes over him.

Oh, how he wants to be seen. By  _him_. And all he got to do is ask.

 

**~**~**

 

This time, he doesn't get an answer. He tries, multiple times, feeling a smothering disappointment when he's met by nothing but silence. A voice inside him snickers, tells him that he has himself to blame. That he's been greedy. Unworthy. That he should… yes, it feels like he should be ashamed, somehow.

As the day passes by, he decides to leave. Talking himself into forgetting the palace of make-believe he has been housed in. But he wants, he still does. He wants it to be as real as he scent in the blanket, as real as the feelings he had that made him come on his own accord. So he tries again, when the afternoon is waning and turning into evening.

This time, he gets an answer. Maybe not the one he was thinking of, but an answer nonetheless. He hears him laugh when he picks up. It's not a laugh that has the purpose of making him feel bad, it's too warm for that, too caring in a way, but it does anyway.

" _Five missed calls? Wow, and so early too!"_

He thinks about what to say. He wants to ask him more, everything. Anything. But… It feels strange. That morning, everything felt rather the opposite. Everything was clear, what he wanted to do and what he wanted to be done to him, but now that he has the chance to share that, he falters.

" _I'm sorry,"_ he hears in his ear, like it's obvious what he has been through, " _I'm just surprised. I thought you would, I don't know, give it some more thought."_

I have, is what he wants to say. But he doesn't. Instead, he just breathes into his mobile. Feeling that sensation of being caught by just hearing that voice and that voice alone.

" _So, I take it that you are ready?"_

"Yes," he breathes. "I am."

" _I like that. Where do you want me?"_

He loses his ability to speak. It's like that part of his nervous system got disabled by hearing that sentence. But he knows where he wants him, but he can't for the life of him make that come across.

"Dinner. Let's… let's have dinner," he finally says.

" _Huh. Dinner? That's fine. Know a place or should I come get you?"_

"Please."

" _You're still_ ㅡ"

"Yes! Yes, I'm… I'm still here. So, please. Come and get me."

Hearing that huff, that odd little laugh, makes him feel like he's won. Like he's done something right. It's a fantastic reward, one he doesn't fully understand, but it makes him feel connected to him, somehow. Like he has some power over him, too.

" _I'll be there. Within half an hour. Are you ready to leave?"_

"I am, yes."

" _Good. Then, I'll see you soon, Yuuri."_

"Yes. Thank you."

" _Don't thank me just yet. What happens tonight is entirely up to you. See you."_

He's been too slow to offer a courtesy of his own, he realises, as the mobile becomes silent. So he does what anyone else would do in his stead. He paces. Checks the clock on his mobile with an uncanny regularity. Feels consumed by the anticipation from within.

Just as it begins to settle, that restlessness, that unspoken yearning, it flares up as he feels a déjà-vu. The soft click from the door, the louder sound followed by the hiss. This time, the lights are on.

"Hi." Like a cat, or maybe like morning mist, Victor moves. Silent and confident, if not flowy and ethereal. He closes the door behind him, and pushes his hair back.

He can't really say if Victor's dressed in the same suit as yesterday, but the coat is the same. It is black, perfectly fitted and unbuttoned. It looks heavy, made of wool, maybe? Underneath, he notices a dark gray ensemble, waistcoat and all, over a white shirt. He wears a tie today too, it being black acts as a fantastic contrast to the white and gray.

He's at a loss for words, suddenly feeling extremely underdressed in his presence, even though he's wearing his suit. It just doesn't look the same. Not as flawless, not like a second skin, clinging in all the right places. Hesitantly, he speaks. "So, um… Shall weㅡ"

"No."

"N-no?"

"You do take instructions, but you forget rules. Duly noted," Victor says with a smile. "For you to get what you want, you have to do what I say. That's the deal."

He swallows, and tries to stay composed. "Okay," he replies, wondering if it's too low for Victor to hear, "what do you want me to… do?"

"I want to ask you a question and I want the answer to be truthful. Simple enough, no?"

"What kind of, or no, what do you want to know?"

Victor closes the space between them with a few strides. He's close, too close or just not close enough, when he feels that scent from earlier. Overpowering his senses completely.

"I just want to know what you like?"

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Yuuri, what do you  _like_?"

That's a complicated question in all its simplicity. It feels like his mind is desperately looking through an index, a table of contents, to find the right answer. To him, the seconds becomes unbearably long, seemingly never ending, and he gets uncomfortable delaying his answer.

When he feels fingers against his forehead, brushing strands of hair away, something just comes out, something he doesn't know the value of. Something he doesn't know to be right or wrong in this context. In any context.

"I-I like to, uh… not be in charge."

There's a pause. One where blue eyes pierces him, bury themselves into him. Evaluates him in silent contemplation.

"You like to be dominated." Strange how it sounds like a statement rather than a question.

"Y-yes."

"You say this hesitantly, Yuuri. Are you telling me the truth?"

"I… I am! I just haven't saidㅡ"

"What makes you think that it was what I was asking for?"

"I kind of… well, because of what you said? Yesterday?"

"That it doesn't have to be about sex?"

"No! You said that it, kind of, ends up like that. To be about sex. An arrangement like this."

"Does that mean you want it to?"

His heart is racing. Hard. Fast. With every beat, he hears it inside. The 'yes', 'yes', 'yes'. Making him tremble with every pulse. Making him want to fall into the beat, let it out into the open. He closes his eyes, trying to make a choice, to go down either path of that fork in the road.

He feels Victor lean in, the scent of him even more intoxicating. The word is on his tongue, so close to leaping off it, but instead, he's interrupted. By lips brushing against his ear, making him forget there even was a word in his mouth ready to be delivered in the first place.

"Yuuri? Do you?"

His eyes fling open as his heart stops, not strumming the want anymore. If anything, he feels intruded. Trespassed upon. Why does that question feel more off limits, more intimate? He swallows, trying to rally his thoughts. Trying to find a truthful answer to the question.

"I-I…" He takes a deep breath and continues. His voice but a whisper. "Do you really… need to know?"

"That was the deal," sounds the answer. Low and straight into his ear. "Obey me and get what you want.  _Exactly_  what you want."

"I…" He shudders, making his exhale stutter. Afraid of losing what actually is becoming real, afraid to bare himself in order to be allowed to reach out and, what, take it?

Before he ends up in a game of wanting and not daring, something inside him takes the leap, makes him hand himself over. "I want it to be both! If that makes sense?"

"Perfectly. What do you prefer?"

"For now, I… think I want it to beㅡ"

He feels the warmth against his cheek dissipate. He realises Victor is straightening himself up. He's silently longing for him to stay and tries to look his way without it being too obvious. He doesn't know if their exchange has made Victor think less of him, but no matter how intently he looks at him, his face doesn't reveal what he might be thinking.

"I hear you. So... Dinner?"

A sting inside. Of disappointment, no doubt. He realises that Victor has come to his own conclusion, he interrupted him without letting him finish. He wants more, more than dinner but the fire has turned to a panting ember that wants, no, needs more air, more fuel. Instead of saying anything, he nods and follows Victor towards the door, stopping behind him to stand out of the way when he reaches for the handle.

"After you."

As he passes Victor, he feels his hand between his shoulder blades, fluidly ending up at the small of his back. He's guided out of the room with a light, almost unnoticeable push. When the hand disappears, he wishes he'd had the courage to make it stay. Because when it's there, hot against him even through layers of clothes, it makes him feel like he's in control. Of someone other than himself.

 

**~**~**

 

They share a taxi, the both of them sitting in the backseat. He glances at Victor, notices how he seems preoccupied with what's going on outside of their new little bubble. Seems like he's good at creating them, the small, intimate spaces where no one else is invited in. He's made it happen twice already.

Due to cobblestones, a bump in the road or some other irregularity, their knees touch. That reels him in, the pensive fulfiller of dreams. He smiles, those blue eyes narrowing genuinely when they meet his brown, now almost black in the dim light.

"You look nice," Victor says simply.

"Thank you. You look…" How to even convey that in words? How this man to his right makes people stop and stare? How men wish to be him and women wish to be with him? Amusingly, or maybe annoyingly, he knows it too. The effect he has on people.

Before he finds a word suitable, not too understating or too lavish, he feels a finger brush against his knee. It's just a small movement, done only once, but it sets him off. He feels it again. The need. The want. The flare. He shifts in his seat, pushes his legs closer together but trying to be inconspicuous about it. The way he makes him feel is unreal. And yet, it's so real, so tangible. So very much his.

Not surprisingly, he hears a small chuckle which makes him feel his cheeks heat up. Of course, Victor noticed. Why shouldn't he, being that close, that warm, that teasing. He's an expert at what he does, finding out what makes people tick, ferreting out what buttons to press. And it's obvious that he's trying, with small, seemingly unimportant means. But they know differently, the both of them. He's not trying, he's succeeding.

Slowly, the taxi pulls over and money exchange hands. They get out shortly thereafter, and start walking side by side.

"Is it far?" He tries to ask his question casually, for he has noticed that every single moment spent together with the man donned in silver and blue are moments he wants to be never ending.

"No, not at all. There, see the red sign to the left? That's where we're going."

"Oh," he replies, trying to conceal his disappointment but apparently making a poor attempt of it, since an arm finds its way around his shoulders.

"You sound disappointed." Again, more a statement than a question. So true, so well observed.

"No, I'm not. Not… really." The arm is tightening around him, making him slow down and eventually, come to a stop. That's when hands end up on his shoulders, making his eyes search for a pair of blue.

"Yuuri? Remember.  _Anything._ " He almost mouths the rest, keeping it barely audible, just between them. "You only need to ask. Okay?"

He nods. His eyes find the ground, not knowing what to say, what to do when faced with such a blatant offer. So shamelessly delivered.

"Hey…"

He peers up from underneath the rims of his glasses, makes contact with blue eyes looking for his. They're close, dangerously close, but not as close as the thumb that feels his lower lip. Kneading it almost with slow, circular movements, before it disappears. Leaving a heated sensation in its wake.

"Let's go," Victor whispers, and together they head towards the red sign. Drawn to it like moths to a flame. Unknowingly seeking the most unconventional demise.

 

**~**~**

 

The restaurant is quaint, on the smaller side but still busy. As they enter, they hang off their coats in the assigned space before venturing further in. There's a small queue, some people seem to loiter around the bar while others just sit and wait, engrossed in conversation.

"Don't worry, I've made a reservation," Victor says over the murmur. "Two seconds."

He watches as Victor heads off, gets greeted with a smile before he speaks to a stout looking woman, dressed in black and white. He sees Victor turn around to face him, and beckons him with his hand to come closer. As they meet up, the woman takes the lead with two menus in hand and guides them to a table situated in the far end of the establishment.

"I asked for a table as far away from the kitchen as possible. That makes it a bit calmer," Victor explains.

The woman stands patiently by the table as they sit down, and asks something in Russian.

"What do you want to drink?" Victor translates without difficulties, his eyes occupied with the drink menu.

"Beer, please. Pick a light one."

The woman receives the order and hurries off, dodging patrons and colleagues alike with impressive footwork. When she returns, she's not interrupting anything other than the silence.

He tries to open up to conversation again, tentatively. Asking a silly question, one that does the trick. "What are you drinking?"

"Water," Victor replies, his eyes narrowing as he takes another sip. Ineffectively hiding his smile behind the glass. "One of us has to be in control."

He holds his breath before he slowly lets it out. It's like Victor's fanning a flame with his words. Carefully, testing the waters. Trying to see where he stands.

"Oh," he replies sheepishly. "So, uh… You were busy before?"

"Before?" Victor puts his glass down on the table.

"Yes. When I called? I was… I was under the impression that youㅡ"

"I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"I wanted to, Yuuri. I felt you buzzing in my pocket, I knew it was you. I wanted to answer, hear your voice. Hear what you wanted from me but I couldn't. Life… let's just say it got in the way."

"So… you knew it was me?"

"You're the only one who has this number. So, yes."

He feels a heat devour him as the realisation becomes apparent. He is chosen. By him.

Again, they're interrupted. This time, to order food. He asks for pasta and Victor nods, informing the waiter of their choices. He's asked if he wants more to drink, to which he says yes. Another beer won't make him lose his way, but maybe embolden him some.

They are bad at small talk. To him, it seems like Victor wants him to take the lead. Victor's unintrusive, and being quiet almost makes it worse. But it's apparent that Victor stands his ground, that every word he's been telling him about him being the catalyst for what the evening might entail really is true. Nothing will happen, unless he sets it in motion.

The food arrives. His mouth waters seeing the pasta, the cream based sauce and the small bits of sirloin cooked medium rare. Victor has ordered something else, something Russian, and before they start to eat, he asks him what it is.

"Kulebiaka," Victor responds. "Salmon and vegetables in a puff pastry. It's a classic Russian dish. You almost know what you're going to get, but every chef has his own take on it so… it tends to surprise you. Every time."

They eat in silence, sharing nothing but a stray look and an occasional, almost too suggestive, interjection as a reaction to the round, full flavours playing in their mouths.

"Have you ever had kulebiaka, Yuuri?" Victor suddenly asks.

He swallows, takes a mouthful of beer and wishes he'd ordered wine instead. He shakes his head as the alcohol finds its way inside him.

"Here, then. Have a bite." Victor leans over the table slightly, holding his tie to his chest with one hand and the other guiding the fork closer to lips already being slightly parted. "Open up," he commands.

So he does. He takes the fork in his mouth and thinking about where it's been makes him unable to taste what he's been offered. At least until he hears Victor speak anew.

"Good?"

He lets the bite talk to his senses, tries to focus in order to taste it properly and it is good. Rich and full with a mild feeling lingering on his palate once he swallows.

"Very."

Victor smiles and leans back, and cuts another piece that he gracefully puts in his mouth.

"Victor?"

"Mhm?"

"Would… um, would you like to taste this, too?" He has the pasta wrapped around his fork, a small piece of meat pierced on the tip of it.

Instead of answering in words, Victor smiles.

He can only watch as Victor leans in over the table, one hand on its surface to steady himself with. The other touches his, the one holding the fork, just briefly before he feels it being gripped. Victor's hand feels warm, soft even, as fingers tighten. He looks at Victor, notices how his eyes are veiled by light lashes as he guides the fork closer to his mouth, how it opens slowly with every passing second.

And then, Victor pauses. He remembers to breathe then, feeling nothing but Victor's hand on his own, and he does so with a gasp that is a bit too loud, a bit to quick, as their eyes suddenly meet. With a steady gaze, blue eyes intently looking into his without even as much as blinking, the fork disappears into Victor's mouth.

Victor doesn't use his teeth, it's his tongue that does the exchange. Lapping, no, caressing the food off the fork. A noise is heard, originating deep from within Victor's chest, as he chews and swallows.

He is mesmerised. By the way Victor looks, by the way Victor sounds. By the way Victor lets his tongue flick across the fork, again and again, so torturously slow whilst gripping his wrist. By Victor's eyes, being so calm, so telling, so challenging. Locked on his without wavering.

"Mm," Victor groans as he lets his hand go, he fork slowly easing out of his mouth, "you made the right choice tonight. That is good."

If he felt an ember being fanned into a flare before, it's now a flame. One that rages inside him, one that threatens to ravage him and leave him scorched. Burned beyond recognition For a reason he himself doesn't understand, he gets to his feet, mumbles some excuse he can't remember the second after and turns on his heels. He needs space, distance away from Victor before it gets out of hand.

He finds the bathroom. Urinals to the left, stalls to the right. He locks himself inside, and feels his knees buckle. He grips the walls and manages to sit down on the toilet.

He feels. He wants. The feelings are exactly the same, the sensations inside him too, as the ones he felt earlier that morning. The only difference is, he can't. Not now. Not there.

The pulse in his ears are deafening him, impairing him with every beat. With every spasm, every quickened cramp inside, he whines. Feeling his whole body react to what his heart is doing. He can't. Not now, not there, but he reaches into his pocket and finds his mobile.

He tries to keep it civil, tries to make himself seem unaffected but his text becomes a mess. A rambly mess of courtesies he doesn't give a fuck about so he ends up deleting it, the message consisting of truth and lies and everything in between and sends off nothing more than a desperate plea.

 

_**To: Unknown** _

_**come** _

 

It doesn't take long, not long at all, before he hears the door open, a click-clack against the marble floor.

"I'm here," the voice he's been dying to hear whispers to him. "Open up."

He does, and the door swings open immediately. The seconds are eternal, when they lay eyes on each other, when they understand that it has just begun.

"You like to be told what to do," he hears Victor say, "so turn around."

It feels like he's outside of his body, like he's watching from above. He sees Victor lock the door, he sees himself turn around. He not only sees but he feels Victor come closer, his heat seeping into his back.

"On the seat. On your knees."

As he does what he's told, he hears Victor's voice into his ear. It's thick, seeping of everything he is feeling on the inside. As he hears Victor speak, he moans.

"This is a classy place. If someone comes in, this makes it seem more innocent. Like I'm alone."

He tries to breathe, but his lungs are just fluttering inside. Making him feel lightheaded, dizzy, even more dissociative.

"Hands on the wall. No, in front.  _Good boy._ "

The sound of his belt being undone makes his every exhale become a whine. He wants, he wants, he wants, but he still cannot voice that. Cannot make himself reach out to take it.

His trousers slide down and he shudders as he feels Victor's hands on his thighs, on his ass, on the waistband of his underwear. Victor doesn't make a thing of it, like it's perfectly normal to be on your knees inside a bathroom stall with someone reaching down between your legs, gripping and exposing the most intimate part of you with not as much as a word to acknowledge that.

He bends his head down and understands that it's happening. It really is happening. Victor's hand is around him, feeling him, pulling him. He sees it, and the way Victor's watch dances back and forth on his wrist makes him believe.

"How do you want it?" Victor's teeth is nipping at the skin of his neck.

He shakes his head. He doesn't know, he's so thoroughly lost in the sensation, in the sight of them together. Maybe that's enough?

"How do you want it?" Victor's lips brush against his ear.

"Ngh," he whines, his head full of all of that he wants to reveal.

"Tsk-tsk. You had your chance. It's my way now."

He feels an arm around his stomach before he gasps, the feeling of Victor thrusting against him from behind making him cry out. He tenses his arms, tries to absorb the force coming from behind. Victor's not inside him, but  _gods_ , why didn't he wish for that? He could have had that, he could have had it all.

The pace is upped. The hand around him in front is quickening, the arm around him is tightening, the feeling from behind is more forceful, almost aggressive. He voices that appreciation.

"Shh. Yuuri, shh."

The arm around his stomach disappears. Somehow, he doesn't get surprised to feel a hand covering his mouth instead. But the thrusts doesn't stop. The only difference from before is that his head is forced back, leaning on Victor's shoulder.

"Come for me. Come on, Yuuri."

It starts in his stomach. The sensation of hot suddenly becoming cold. How it spreads out with an uncanny speed, down into his thighs, up through his chest and finds his brain. That's when he blacks out, when ripple after ripple of indescribable euphoria takes him. When he experiences the most powerful release.

He's not bracing himself anymore. He doesn't understand where his hands are, his body has ceased to be his own, but they are tangled up into silver hair. Gripping and clawing as ripples become waves. He cries out into the palm covering his mouth, his teeth suddenly digging in to stop himself. But it doesn't stop. Nothing does.

He loses his balance, almost feeling himself teeter. It's as if he's experiencing himself faint, although his mind is perfectly clear but his body gives up. The hand around his mouth ends up around his chest instead, steadying him just as much as the body bracing itself behind him.

And just like that, everything becomes still. No pulls, no thrusts, no blackouts, no gripping hands. Just an arm around his body, his head leaned back. Warm breaths caressing his cheek. The only thing being heard are lavishing whispers, too low for anyone else to hear. Anyone else but them.

"Such a good boy. You did so good. That was amazing, you know that? Oh, Yuuri…"

Those words make his innermost being react. They resound within him as they take root, producing sigh as he accepts the revelation. He knows what he's going to ask for next.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

It's embarrassing,  _mortifying,_  to do somewhat of a walk of shame back to the table and trying hard not to disclose the reason why. Although he consciously knows that it isn't possible, it feels like it's written on him, like it's etched onto his skin. The fact that he indeed, for the first time in his life, just got jerked off by someone who practically had begged for it to happen. In the bathroom of a classy restaurant, no less.

He thinks back, to the brief deliberation they had before he went back out. How Victor spoke to him over his shoulder as he was washing his hands. After, and the memory makes his cheeks feel like hellfire, Victor had helped him get cleaned up with a smile and a somewhat teasing look.

"You go first," Victor said over the running water. "You were the first to go in so it seems less suspicious if you go back before me. Okay?"

He nodded, and thought to himself how strange it was to realise that Victor apparently had a protocol for that kind of thing. He could only guess that this must have happened before, and the thoughts made his chest clench. Even though that was  _his_  first time doing such a thing, he couldn't possibly say the same about Victor and be entirely sure, and that affected him in ways he was unprepared for.

Now, he's at the table alone. He takes a sip from his beer and wrinkles his nose when he notices that it's lukewarm, immediately leaving the memory of their improvised game plan behind. He can't help but wonder what Victor's life has been like and if he disrupts it in a way, now that they have opened doors that, at least to him, will be difficult to close. He feels it inside. The need to let them stay open is acute, as important as drawing breath.

It's strange, but he senses Victor before he hears or sees him. It's like the moment they shared has made him attuned to him, it's something he finds hard to describe. Victor's energy, presence, whatever one might call it, demands things from him. If not everything.

The touch he knows he's going to receive, starting from the nape of his neck and precisely above the collar of his shirt and tapering off at his shoulder, makes him shudder. The mere anticipation of it, the counting of seconds before he feels that finger, makes him feel self-indulgent to a degree he's almost ashamed of. But then, that finger, now slightly cool when it makes contact with his skin, takes it all away. It makes it feel okay. Not only okay, it just… feels like the only thing that matters.

"Sorry for making you wait." Victor's voice isn't full of that thick, glorious tone he had when he was praising him moments ago. He sounds matter of factly, like he indeed is sorry for making him wait, no matter the reason. It's perplexing, how well he shifts between being a complete hedonist to someone regulated. How he flutters between being all about innuendo one second and being almost distant the next.

"It's fine," he replies, the reason to him waiting teasing his cheeks. Making them prickle.

"The food's cold now, huh?"

"Yes. That's… unfortunate. I'm soㅡ"

"Don't apologise. Never apologise. Not for such a thing." Victor takes a sip of water, swallows, and rests his chin on his hand.

He nods, and decides to pose a question. One that has been bothering him. "Victor? About this, um,  _arrangement_?"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering, how long does it last?"

Victor looks amused by the question, he even chuckles a bit before he answers. "You want to keep me?"

Inside, everything he is clambers to Victor's words. He wants to, he really wants to but it's not that simple.

Instead of waiting for an answer, as if he understands that there's a battle going on that he can't see, Victor resumes. "Until Sunday. If you want it to."

"Sunday, huh…" He pauses, feeling both a sadness and an exhilaration at the same time before he takes a breath and asks something else. Something that might be the most important question in order to take it further. "Also, I kind of wanted to know if… if we're done for today?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"It's just… I'm confused about the rules. If there are any… no, what I'm asking is… can I ask you for more? In the same day?"

The second or so it takes for Victor to hear his question and maybe fully understand it, ends with a laugh. A laugh filled with heart and surprise, as he is covering his mouth. He settles, shoulders still twitching a little before he replies. "I don't know. Why don't we get out of here and maybe," he gives his lips a small tap, "discuss it further? Would you like that?"

" _Yes_. Please."

As Victor makes eye contact with their waiter and mumbles something inaudible when he arrives, his heart starts to race. There's still a chance. If he dares to push the door open, just a little bit more.

 

**~**~**

 

It's almost an unspoken agreement hanging in the air, when Victor waves down a taxi and tells the driver where to go and he silently gets in next to him. He hears the name of the hotel in between the Russian words making sentences, and settles in knowing that they're heading there. They're going back to where it started.

The ride feels eternal. Slow. Agonising. Even more so by the pressing silence that lasts almost as long as the never ending ride.

"Have you been enjoying yourself?" Victor says when he finally breaks the quiet.

What a question. What a stupid, mocking, insolent and strangely arousing question. He knows that Victor knows. Hell, he was the one with his hand gripping him, thrusting, covering his mouth after all, but still… he continues to tease. To affect him so.

As the taxi pulls up and comes to a stop, he almost yelps when he feels a hand on the inside of his thigh, a warm whisper in his ear.

"I'm glad. Come."

He tries to be contained as they walk through the lobby, as they wait for the lift, as they walk through the hall and finally, god,  _finally_ , unlocks the door to the room.

Victor doesn't say anything, he doesn't even acknowledge his presence. He simply enters the room, flips the light switch and walks across the room. When he reaches the armchair, he turns around and finally addresses him.

"Come here. Let's discuss things further."

He swallows. It's with trepidation he walks up to Victor, passes him and sits down on the sofa.

"So," Victor says as he sits down in the armchair, crossing his legs, "let's talk."

He feels his mouth becoming dry, but he meets his gaze. The moment can be his, if he's confident enough. With that realisation, he speaks.

"I want two things," he begins.

"Two?  _Oh-hoh_. Let's hear it."

"First, I… I want you to stay here. For the night."

"No. Next question."

He feels shot out of the sky. Like he's that mythical boy, whatever his name was, who wanted more and got taken down by the sun, tumbling to earth to never see another day. He doesn't want that, not when being told he was free to ask for  _anything._  He wants to fight him on this, convince him that he's… well, maybe not worth it, but he wants it. "No? Why is thㅡ"

"Yuuri. There are things, albeit very few, that I just don't do. That's one of those things."

"Can't… can't you make an exception?"

Victor chuckles. "Tsk-tsk. No, I can't. Next question.  _Please._ "

He feels discouraged. By the tone of Victor's voice sounding so absolute, sounding so unwilling to discuss it further. By the fact that if something as simple as sleeping, not necessarily next to someone else, is off the table then he's definitely going to be declined again. Hesitantly, he reveals his second demand. "How about… touching, then?"

"Touching?"

"Yes. Like there's something there. Something more?"

Victor's brow furrows. He's deep in thought, his eyes flickering back and forth. It looks like he's considering options, weighing benefits against disadvantages. With a small sigh, he comes back from his thoughts. Blue eyes pensive and narrow. "Like there was something more between us, you mean?"

"Yes, or… I was thinking about what you said. Yesterday, you know. Today too, about this… not having to be sexual. Just to feel you, um, kind of..." He knows what he wants to say, but his voice won't really cooperate. 'Close to me, your hands on me' are the words he's aiming for, or something to that effect, but they just won't come out.

"You want to kiss? You want to be touched by my tongue as well?"

When he hears it, what he thinks is an offer, he starts imagining what it feels like. Skimming fingers against his jaw, maybe a hand taking off his glasses, pushing back his hair. A wisp of breath tickling his lips before they feel pressure, or maybe, not even that. A tongue on his lower lip, hot and wet before it enters his mouth and then… Yes, he wants that. Now that the idea has been sold to him, he knows he not only wants, he  _yearns_. He not only needs, he  _demands._

With a shudder, he whispers. Just a 'yes', nothing more.

Victor suddenly stands and closes the distance between them, taking the the two or so steps from the armchair to the sofa.

He feels himself tense up, joyous within that their bartering is over. A knee to his chest pushes him back, further back into the sofa. He loses his breath. The push isn't forceful, it's the mere realisation that it happened that makes him unable to. When that knee ends up between his legs, teasingly rubbing against him, it almost jumpstarts as he gasps. Victor is looming over him with both hands to the wall to support himself and he feels Victor's heat, that intoxicating, mad heat as he leans in, closer.

"Yuuri…" Victor's voice is like a purr, his breath mildly warm like an early summer breeze against his cheek. "Can I ask you a question of my own? Only fair, no?"

"Yes."

"Tell me then. How many times have you come today?"

"That'sㅡ"

"You said it was fair," Victor retorts, softly.

It's not fair. Victor's questions never seem to be. But he wants not only to open that door, he wants to barge through it. With his voice riding on an exhale, he answers, feeling himself throb as he does. Afraid that Victor will sense it, against his knee. "Two. Two times."

"The first time, did you do it yourself?"

"Y-yes."

"What were you thinking of?"

Before he can think his answer through, it just comes out. Tumbles off his lips like they're words of a drunk man or an idiot. Or just… somebody who wants to get lost in an opportunity. But it feels liberating to disclose it. To be completely honest, not considering the delicate topic. Although his voice is low. "You… watching me."

"Hm…" Victor almost sighs the thoughtful sound before he resumes. "Yuuri? I have to say no. No to your request. I'm sorry."

With those words, the heat dissipates as Victor retreats. As he stands up. "You see," he says while adjusting his suit jacket, facing the windows, "you have asked for things that I think are impossible for us. The sleeping over, the touching. The  _kissing_. Those things are reserved for lovers and we're not lovers. I don't want you to misunderstand. Although it's easily done in a situation like this."

"Are… are you going to leave?"

"I think it's best, at least for tonight. Tomorrow though… call me." Victor turns around and walks towards the door, opening it without looking back over his shoulder. "I'd be happy to watch you."

  

**~**~**

 

Wet. Hot. Sticky. He wakes up the following morning, in the bed this time, bathing in sweat. If he had a nightmare, he can't remember it and if it's due to other reasons, he can't find the causes. The only thing he knows that he's reacted to something, something his body apparently did a too good a job of fighting.

He rolls over to his back and his eyes end up resting on the intrusively gaudy chandelier, although he doesn't really see it. He's lost, thinking of other things entirely and seeing them too. How he's been someone else. Been with someone else. How things he never told anyone, things he never did to or with anyone became real, spoken and done. And it's all because of him. The Russian man with piercing blue eyes and silver hair. The one that has been so close, but so unfathomably distant.

Pawing around in the bed after his mobile gives him nothing, so he has to sit up after a while. It's lost in the vast softness of sheets and duvets but he finds it eventually underneath a pillow he's had his head on during his, presumably, restless sleep. He thinks to himself that he must have wanted to keep it close, ready to do his bidding.

He scoffs. What bidding would that be, exactly? The only shivering things he has yet managed to do was to send a text. He also begged for him to stay, begged for him to do something else, something even more intimate than taking hold of him in a bathroom stall. But he had been rejected, told off with the simple motivation that they 'weren't lovers'. Seems like he has some kind of moral code, strangely enough. That Victor.

With a sigh, he finds that he's slept in as he notices the time on his mobile. Apparently, the night before took its toll. The day's frustration too. Not to mention the evening's activities. He feels a slight sting of… no, the feeling is definitely undefined. Tightly tied up with the fact that he's affected by what has happened to him, what he's been thinking, wishing and wanting. But there's a way to remedy that, to erase that gnawing deep inside he thinks to himself as he finds the unknown number in his call list.

This time, not even a signal sounds in its entirety in his ear before he hears his voice.

" _I was kind of disappointed not to have five missed calls this morning. Where were you?"_

He laughs, just one syllable, surprised and slightly flattered by the way Victor answers. How he picks up close to immediately. How he doesn't greet him, how he just goes straight to the point. Adding a strange endearment to their arrangement. "I'm sorry, I slept in."

" _Tired from yesterday, huh?"_  Victor chuckles, a certain hint of pride in his voice. When he resumes, not even a heartbeat later, his voice is coloured by something else. Something serious. " _Where do you want me?"_

He feels his stomach clench. It almost makes him whine, the way it cramps up on him like that, but he bites his lower lip to stifle the noise. He tries to collect himself. He wants to make himself sound as unaffected, as cool and distant as Victor, but it's impossible. He's invested. Stuck to him.

"Here," he replies, one hand gripping his mobile tighter and the other pressing into the mattress with fingers scratching the sheets.

" _Do you want me to come?"_

This time, he whines. No bite to his lower lip can quench the need he feels to react, to be vocal with the association he does. Yes, he wants Victor to come. In all the possible ways the word could possibly be defined as. He needs him there. He needs him close. He needs him moving. He needs him panting against him. He needs him spent, lost in the languorous fantasticality it means to climax.

"Y-yes," he hesitates, not really knowing why but maybe because this is new to him too.

" _How?"_ Victor's voice is an unbelievable rumble. " _Fast? Slow? Now?"_

The hand gripping the sheets moves on it own accord. Tentatively touching his stomach, fingers drawing patterns on his skin. He closes his eyes and tries hard to see it inside, how blue eyes are locked on his, how one hand is pinned down into the mattress and the other isn't gripping sheets, but rather, naked skin being on top and around him. How fingers that aren't his own are teasing him, moving to feel everywhere it's safe and accidentally touching places off limits.

He hisses through clenched teeth as he imagines the fingers touching him, breaking the barrier where he's being clothed and not. He feels it too, how fingers, cold to the touch, are feeling the fuzz just below the waistband of his underwear. He tenses up to the touch. He feels himself arch his back, his hips participating in a heated discussion. They want to make their point come across without any possibility for misunderstanding, and does so by rising and falling.

"Now," he shudders. "I want you to come now."

" _What do you want? Tell me what you want."_

"I… I want you to watch me. Come and watch me."

" _Watch you?"_  Victor's voice is coloured by a smile, it must be. Amazing how he can pick it up by just the sound in his ear. " _In what way?"_

"I just want you to. I want… I want your eyes on me. I want you to aahㅡ" He has to continue, make his mind feel sated even though he's alone. So he touches himself, tries to remember what felt like yesterday when another hand gave him that elated sensation.

" _Don't tell me you've started already? Yuuri, you hurt my feelings."_

"I-I… no, I just… I can't stand thirty minutes. I can't wait for you to, ngh…"

" _I'm close. Closer than you think. Wait for me."_

With that, it becomes silent in his ear. It's possible that the sudden silence takes away some of his egocentricity, because he stops and feels himself lose the edge, the rigidity, as his mind tries to comprehend.

And then it hits him. Victor is on his way, he must be. It wasn't just a mere play with words, him being close, asking him to wait. And then, questions start to form. Close? How close? Wait for him, what does that entail? What does he want… to do?

His heart starts to beat, picking up speed as his mind races away. He hasn't showered. He has worn the same clothes for a day and a half. He has been on his knees, hands to a wall and… No, he needs to shower! If there's anything he needs to do before Victor arrives, it is to shower.

Just like that, he can only focus on one thing. To get out of bed, out of his underwear and into the shower, and maybe, possibly, back into bed beforeㅡ

The soft click, the louder sound, the hiss. Heels drumming against the floor.

He stands naked, frozen by the sound. Just about to get behind the wall of glass, the wall that doesn't leave anything to the imagination. Although… him standing there, in the open, doesn't either. But that thought is unavailable to him as he hears footsteps against the floor, as well as would-be instinct to cover himself. If this was a normal circumstance.

"Yuuri, I will be really disappointed if I find that youㅡ"

Their eyes meet as Victor comes around the corner, as he raises his head. Those blue eyes aren't only watching him, they  _see_  him. They bury themselves into the very core of him, his being, and stays there. They latch onto him in a way Victor's touches won't, because Victor has been holding them back. Depriving him of them.

Victor's dressed differently now. He's not the sleek apparition he's almost been used to seeing, previously donned in suit and tie with a cool demeanor and exterior. He's casual now, flawlessly put together in a thin, black and clingy v-necked sweater and lightly dyed and stylishly worn jeans, resting low on his hips. His hair is messier than the days before, and it's impossible to decide if it's a fashion statement or if Victor's been in a hurry. But the distance is still there, a cool to his way of carrying himself so blatantly apparent.

Strange how Victor's fully dressed but still showing just enough. The shirt has a neckline just a little too low, showing a patch skin that acts as a beacon, challenging him to reach out and touch. The jeans are resting in a way that makes him wonder if he is wearing anything underneath. It's hard to tell, and he imagines that if they were closer to each other, he would probably see a hint of hair just above the waist of the jeans. He feels his eyes flicker, look for clues as he holds his breath.

It's Victor who finally makes a move, after lifetimes upon lifetimes of quiet. After eternities of hungry, yes, ravenous blue steadily observing. And he does so by walking past him, by sitting down on the edge of the bed, by crossing his legs and leaning back slightly.

With a voice that sounds nothing like anything he's ever heard, Victor speaks. It sounds held back, frustrated, greedy and… ready. "I've come."

He can't do anything else than nod, feeling a tremble in the depths of his stomach. It wants to take him over, but he manages to keep it contained, somehow.

"I'll watch," Victor resumes, "on one condition. Because this is your wish, no? You're allowed to do everything to yourself but orgasm. You hear me? If you do, I'll leave and this is over."

The way Victor pronounces  _the word_ , the way the 'r' rolls off his tongue in combination with the gravelly tone of his voice, makes him sigh, moan, or maybe something in between. It's a sound of dissatisfaction, like he's a little boy being told not to do what his heart tells him to. But it's also a sound carrying a challenge. A slightly defiant sound, anticipating things he's bound to do.

Victor chuckles as he hears this, his eyes narrowing slightly, his tongue caressing his bottom lip. An agreement has been made. "Go ahead," he purrs. "Show me what you want me to see."

He knows he's naked, he knows that Victor has seen everything he normally would hurry to hide, but it's different now. Those eyes, they don't judge. They worship, and even more so as he starts to move.

He goes behind the wall of glass, now separating them no matter how much he would like it to be different. But it's okay, he has Victor where he wants him. He's watching, and although he's isolated from him, he feels him as if he was close.

He saunters past the toilet, the basin, the hanger with two bathrobes. He lets his hand skim the edge of the bathtub before he goes behind the second glass wall, intent on not looking, not seeking out those eyes so blue he knows are following his every move. For Victor to reach him, he would actually have to make a move, breach the invisible divide. Knowing that makes him smile, as he turns the shower on.

The water is cold, making him gasp. He unintentionally shoots glance in Victor's direction, squints a bit. It looks like Victor has moved, but only in order to see him better. He's still on the edge of the bed, legs still crossed but now slightly turned towards him. Still cool, still distant.

He feels the water getting warmer, and puts his head under the stream. His hair becomes saturated, heavy with water as it falls into his eyes. Instinctively, he rakes it back and notices a movement in the corner of his eye. Victor is leaning in, legs uncrossed with his elbows resting on his knees.

The bottle of bodywash falls to the floor when he tries to open it, making him feel embarrassed. Of course, he had to mess that up and feel awkward as a result.

Over the hiss of the water, he hears a laugh. Victor's laugh. It's not gravelly, not distant. More playful, appreciative. Definitely here and now. Like he's enjoying himself. So he makes a thing of it, the way he picks the bottle up. He sits down on his heels and reaches for it, making sure to face his observer as he spreads his legs. He simultaneously covers himself when he's picking up the bottle, making sure his arms are disrupting the view. Victor's eyes aren't allowed to gain access that easily.

As he stands up, he hollows his back, creating a sway as he turns sideways. He looks, and notices that Victor's got a hand on the mattress, his legs carrying more weight even though he's sitting down. He decides to make Victor fight for it. The right to stay cool and composed.

He manages to open the bottle of bodywash, this time without dropping it. He turns away, turns to display his back as he lathers himself up. It's easy to pretend that he's not alone, that another pair of hands are continuing their work from before. He breathes, lets a noise of satisfaction ride on the exhale. Again, again, again, as he is touching himself. But not where it counts.

The look over his shoulder almost startles him, when he sees Victor on his feet, still outside the first glass wall. Victor's almost pacing, moving a little back and forth to see more but not overtly asking for it. But his eyes are on him, burning him. Making the hot water feel like a stream brought to life by the first rays of sunshine in the spring.

So he turns, turns to face the blue eyes so intently watching. He let's his hands follow through, as he's lathering up his chest but not making eye contact. He steps back and rinses himself off, head tilted back. He hears a muted word he doesn't understand as he's parting his lips, and spits out the water caught in his mouth.

Another dollop of bodywash. This time, he touches his stomach, caressing himself as the foam becomes denser. This time, he looks. He sees widened blue eyes, lips parted in anticipation, a palm flush against the glass. He wants to reel him in, the one so focused on watching, so he does it. He takes hold of himself and starts to move. He goes slow, to keep his word. He doesn't want to come, it has never been about that. Not… coming by his own hand, anyway.

Victor has taken a step back. He becomes unsure, if Victor's losing his interest or not, so he goes a little faster. The slickness of the bodywash almost makes it too pleasurable, almost too good, so he puts his arm against the glass to brace himself as he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against it. Just like the day before.

When he opens his eyes, he's staring into Victor's blue. He's next to him. So close but still so far, being on opposite sides of the second wall of glass.

Victor is leaning in too. His arm is against the glass, his hand pressed against it as if it is feeling his. Reaching for his. His forehead is close, and it would be touching if not for what is keeping them apart.

"Don't you dare," he hears Victor whisper. "Don't you  _fucking_  dare."

But he does dare. He moves his hips, catching the motion in his fisted hand as he looks into Victor's eyes.

The reaction isn't what he was expecting. He expected to be told off, playfully or harshly don't matter, but when he sees Victor's breath steaming up the glass, his tongue pressed against the surface and slowly travelling, he acts immediately. He tastes it, the wet glass, thinking it could be so much different if he only was allowed to.

It's a kiss. Everything within him tells him this. The way he's tangling his fingers into silver hair, the way a hand is touching his jawline, the way lips and tongues collide and compress again and again… all this, without actually feeling it, tasting it. But still, he's experiencing it. His heart beating, racing, commanding him to keep it up. His stomach is sighing, asking for more. His body is beginning to feel satisfied, although his mind is not.

As his lips slide across the surface, wanting to touch, wanting to bite, nip, suck and sip away everything the other side has to offer, he whines. It's outdrawn, it's a cry for more, it's an invitation, it's a reaction to the lips around him. The ones tightening, nibbling, devouring. The ones responding to the cry, the invitation.

He is pushed further into the shower, his back hitting the marble wall. He doesn't understand what is happening at first, when he feels his hand being slapped away. But scorching palms are on his hips, trying to teach him a rhythm. To go back and forth with a force, an urgency. He's a good student, but he doesn't know what to do with his hands. He wants to dig them in, find the softness that sea of silver could offer him, but remembers that he's been told off once, that's he's not allowed to touch.

His hands start to travel, trying to grip what's down below but ending up clawing at marble tiles instead. Like an endless loop, the way he wants to but painfully reminds himself that it's not possible. It's off limits.

As a lock of wet, silver coloured hair twists itself around his finger on his millionth attempt to stop himself, he feels his hips being squeezed. Perplexed, he looks down. Amazed, he drowns in a pair of blue eyes. Sated by the understanding, he grabs hold with the intention of never letting go.

And then, he comes.

 

  **~**~**

 

He's awake, or at least residing in the borderlands between that and a light slumber. He hears Victor's voice, muted somewhere in the room.

"Spasibo," he recognises and then, a hiss and a click, followed by a soft pitter-patter that becomes gradually louder until it stops, next to the bed.

When he looks up, he notices that Victor's wearing a bathrobe. Stark white, incredibly fluffy but he looks good in that too. He smiles when he sees Victor put down a tray on the vacant side of the bed.

"Oh, did I wake you? My apologies."

"No, it's fine," he yawns, somewhat embarrassed by the post-carnal bliss that's still coursing through him. It's making him feel that he needs the sleep, or at least let the sensation ebb away before doing anything else.

"Lunch?"

"Thank you, you shouldn't have," he says as he's handed a plate with bits and pieces of something that looks like a continental breakfast.

They eat in bed, only saying things to each other when they pass edibles back and forth. It feels strangely normal, like they have gained years of experience about one another by being together during brief and sexual interactions.

"Oh," he suddenly remembers when he sees Victor adjusting the bathrobe, "about your clothes…"

"Don't worry. They're getting dry as we speak. Just water." Victor takes a sip of coffee, his eyes not visible due to those light lashes shadowing them as he looks down into his cup.

"I… I never expected you toㅡ"

"Yuuri. Stop lying. You knew  _exactly_  what you were doing. You looked me in the eye and defied me."

"Why did you stoㅡ"

"Why let you do something I can do better?"

He almost chokes on his coffee, and clears his throat to downplay his embarrassment. Not because of Victor speaking the truth or… yes, that's the reason. Victor did it better,  _incomparably better,_ without as much as a second thought. He just stepped into the shower, with clothes and all, and just took him. He took him in his mouth, without asking, without hesitating. Selflessly bringing him to an unbelievable release. Thinking back, he can't really decide who trusted the other more. Who gave the other more.

It's somewhat puerile, but he decides to steer the conversation in another direction. Almost whispering, he brings up another topic, closely related to that of trust. "You let me touch you."

"You were struggling, with your hands. That wasn't fair. You couldn't relax," Victor answers, still sounding as if he's discussing something totally mundane and not the occurrence of having him in his mouth. Down his throat.

"But… you said no before? To touching?"

"A one time thing. As I said, it's not for us." Victor looks up from his coffee cup and straight into his, before his eyes find something else. Something outside the room, real or not.

He doesn't know if that's a definite punctuation to their discussion of if there's still something left. So he tries to ask a question that has been in his head since the first time they met in that very room. "Why don't you, uh… why don't you ask me to let youㅡ"

"This is not that kind of arrangement," Victor interrupts, still looking out the window. "This is for you, your pleasure. My pleasure it… it comes from seeing you. Hearing you. Smelling you. I won't engage in the way you ask."

"Oh… but, um… would you like to?"

Victor's eyes are suddenly on his, calm and evaluating. A small smile is teasing the corners of his mouth and it blooms, flourishes into a most amazing smile before he answers. "As I said, this is not that kind of arrangement."

After a moment of doing nothing else but silently drink what's left of their coffee, Victor calls for his attention. "Actually, Yuuri, there's something you could do for me. Let me show you around town. You said you wanted this to be both, and I like to use my body. Deal?"

"Is this a different arrangement?"

"No, still the same."

"So, no touching?"

"No."

The sigh comes automatically, like the frustration he feels inside when he sees images of their interactions must be voiced somehow. He can't stand being deprived, being so close and not be graced with the satisfaction of the final piece of the puzzle falling into place. Considering what they have done, what he's yearning for should be nothing but a speck in a greater whole. Sadly, it's apparent that Victor doesn't agree.

But he's not ready to let go of the thought. Not just yet. He wants to use the time he's been given by Victor, every last shivering second of it, and the prospect of letting him go before he has to makes him vibrate inside. He barely knows if he even will be able to when he's supposed to.

With an inner unrest, a turmoil of emotions fighting to take dominion, he decided to answer Victor's question. "Okay. But first, I need to do something."

"Anything, I'd be happy to oblige."

"Good. I need to go home. And… I want you to come with me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this little experiment :) Thank you so much for reading and commenting, it means everything!
> 
> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

To his amazement, Victor agreed without hesitating. Without even asking so much as a question. So, after eating, waiting for Victor’s clothes to return and the both of them getting dressed with nothing but brief smiles being exchanged between them, they head off.

“It’s not far,” Victor says. Strangely enough, it doesn’t sound like a question. More like a statement as they exit the hotel.

“Not really,” he responds, feeling slightly puzzled by Victor’s tone of voice. “When I got here the day before yesterday, it took me maybe an hour and a half?”

Victor stops and looks at him in disbelief. “An hour and a half?”

“No, it really isn’t that far it’s just that… I was nervous so I walked around. A little.” 

Seeing Victor’s eyes narrow, not from thought but from amusement because there’s a small twitch to the corners of his mouth, makes him wonder how he’s being perceived. He must seem like a delicate bundle of nerves, awkward and far from assertive. He can’t help but feel judged somehow by the narrowing eyes and the strangled smile, but before he becomes entwined in thoughts so harsh, he is interrupted when Victor starts to walk on with a huff.

“So, did it help?” Victor calls out to him over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” He takes a few quickened steps to catch up, and slows down when they’re side by side.

“Walking? Did it make you less nervous?”

“No. Not really,” he says, truthfully.

“How about now? Are you less nervous now?”

“Honestly, I’m… I’m not sure.”

“You could have fooled me, considering you’re inviting me to your home. That takes guts. Although… I already know where you live. You seem to have forgotten about that?”

That’s right, it all makes sense. Why Victor claims it isn’t far. The envelope. As he remembers finding it on the floor, it comes to him that nothing was written on it. It wasn’t sent to him, it was left there through the mail slot and that means…

“I-I…” His heart begins to race. He feels torn between the sudden chill that travels down his spine and the heat that still is smoldering within when he catches a glance of blue eyes and silver hair. He can’t help but wonder if he’s made the wrong decision, and suddenly, the same nervousness that plagued him days before, when he tried to decide if he should call the number of the back of that card, reenters and tries to engage him in conversation. He knows from experience that the nervousness tends to be very convincing and persuasive, and he really, really doesn’t want to be swayed.

“Don’t worry,” Victor says with a laugh. “I’m harmless. For the most part. So… long walk or short?”

He doesn’t hear him. He’s too preoccupied by thoughts flapping around, thoughts asking him to take it slow, to be wary and careful. For some reason, Victor’s words have started something inside him and it strangely feels like he needs to pace himself. There could be things at stake.

“Yuuri? Long walk or short,” Victor repeats.

“Huh? I-I’m sorry, I wasㅡ”

“You’re nervous, I can tell. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. We can make other plans, maybe meet somewhere else. Just say the word.”

“L-left here,” he says, almost under his breath as they approach a corner, feeling stupid as he realises that Victor probably knows the way, too.

In all honesty, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to make other plans, he doesn’t want to send Victor off, he doesn’t want to deny himself. What he wants is what he’s already decided. But to go through with that means that he has to trust him,  _ Victor _ , in a different kind of way than before. He has to let down his guard, let him in.

Although the nervousness is whispering words big and small, a tirade he knows all too well and most possibly could recite, he falls for it. His ultimate weakness is, indeed, himself. His confidence or lack thereof, his way of letting himself get the best of him once he’s let his guard down. No, he thinks to himself, he has to find some kind of trust in what’s inside him. He can do this. He can win.

He wants the thoughts to scatter, he wants to be able to rest comfortably in the decision he’s made. He wants to trust and not only in Victor but in himself, too. Without thinking, he does what just feels like the most calming thing he can ever think of. It just happens automatically, without any possibility of registering the action or stopping it.

He hears Victor huff a little before he realises what he’s done. His cheeks catch fire, it feels like, and pulls his hand away, untangles his fingers from Victor’s slightly cooler grasp. Even though he lets go, it still feels like Victor’s hand is around his, gently holding his, almost hiding his. Imbibing him with what he’s lacking.

“I-I’m sorry! I know what you said before and Iㅡ”

“Don’t worry,” Victor says softly, and shows him a genuine smile this time. Not one he tries to hide or smother. “Put it back. It’s nice.”

As he does, as his hand almost excuses itself when it’s touching Victors, as their fingers are lacing themselves together and maybe even squeezing a little bit, he decides to take the long walk home.

 

**~**~**

 

He unlocks the door and allows Victor to go in first. If the walk has taught him anything, it is that he can’t let him go. Being allowed to hold his hand only cemented that fact. If Victor made the decision to let him breach his defences, then he’s going to allow Victor to do the same, he figures. But it is with a certain tension inside, as he closes the front door.

He waits for Victor to take off his shoes, sneakers today, and nods. “You can go in,” he says.

Victor doesn’t go further in. He stands to the side and waits for him to take off his coat and his shoes, before he speaks. “Oh. You don’t live alone? Makes sense.”

Right then and there, it feels like the ground is opening. He knows that it can’t but he kind of wishes it actually could do that, that it could devour him and not leave a single trace behind, no matter how impossible. They never talked about that, who they are outside of the arrangement they’ve entered, but now… he kind of wishes that they had. Or that he hadn’t invited Victor to his home. 

 

Standing there, with his heart beating violently and his hands trembling slightly, he wonders what made Victor realise the fact that he, indeed, doesn’t live alone. He’s starting to look for clues, but to him it’s hard to see. He’s used to the things in the flat, he’s used to seeing… the second pair of shoes on the floor, the coat hanging alone on a hook in the hallway. The ones left behind by the person that, officially, has his heart. That’s what Victor saw, he figures, and lets out a slow breath.

“This complicates things, doesn’t it, Yuuri?”

Hearing Victor’s voice makes it hurt. Where? Everywhere. To him, their arrangement never was complicated but his thoughtlessness has made it so. He doesn’t know what to say, the only thing that automatically starts up is the fear that he’s degraded himself in the pursuit of focusing on things he shouldn’t be focusing on. 

His insides feel like they’re wringing themselves around each other, like they’re knotting themselves into a mess that’ll be impossible to untangle. Because, that is what has become of their arrangement. A mess, one he finds it difficult to talk himself out of or worse yet, accept that he’s brought upon himself by hoping and wishing for too much. 

Reluctantly, he meets Victor’s gaze. Victor’s eyes are steady, calmly meeting his. He thinks about what to say, how to respond to Victor’s claim. He doesn’t notice the small, almost subconsciously performed movements his fingers make around what actually means the world to him. Because he is used to doing that, when being anxious. Seeking refuge in the icon depicting all that is sustainable and perfect. Maybe even worshipping it and its meaning.

“It… it doesn’t have to be,” he whispers, feeling a sense of shame as he hears himself utter those words. Because it really shouldn’t have to be  _ complicated _ . It really shouldn’t  _ matter _ . 

“Oh? So you are the kind of person that brings strangers into your home, the home you share with someone else, and dare to say that it doesn’t have to be complicated?  _ Yuuri _ ,” Victor coos with a wry smile, “you surprise me.”

“S-stop it. It’s not like that.”

“What does he think of you, I wonder? What would he do if he was to find out that you’re diverting your loneliness by letting someone else touch you in ways he might not have had the chance to? ‘Not complicated’, indeed.” Victor pauses for a second, a wolfish grin taking him over as he commands eye contact with a light touch to his jaw. “Do you love him?”

If he’s ever felt cornered in his life, this moment would probably sit very comfortably in first place. 

“I… I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he starts, trying his best to sound assertive but with that quivering tone in his voice, he can’t even fool himself.

“Do you love him?”

He’s horrified when he feels the sting behind his eyelids. That quaking feeling on the inside. He doesn’t know why, but it feels incredibly unjust to be asked such a question. Especially since he had decided to trust him. Especially since this… this  _ arrangement _ isn’t something he can be held responsible for in the first place. If there never was an offer, this would never have happened.

“Yuuri?” 

“Victor, s-stop. I don’t… I don’t want to do this anymore. You hear me?! I don’t want to do this anymore!”

His voice echoes in the tiny hallway, bounces off the white walls like it’s a bird banging itself against windows when being caught inside. His voice is an act of desperation, a fear being palpable as things are starting to slip out of his hands.

It sounds harsh, that echo. Almost jarring to his ears. So when he continues, it’s with a lower and softer voice. “Victor, I can’t. If you’re going to be so unfair, then it’s better if we just…”

“Stop?” Victor chuckles. “You know what to do.”

“Yeah. I… this isn’t what I… I mean, when youㅡ”

His insecurities are then mirrored perfectly by Victor’s expression. Slightly widened eyes, the mouth almost formed into a perfect ‘o’. A more loose posture. Yes, it’s apparent that Victor softens, his voice carrying the tone of a person who suddenly wants to make amends. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Yuuri. I didn’t mean to… I thought that you could take it. Consideringㅡ”

“You’re an asshole.” He shoves himself past Victor and heads for the bedroom, trying to ignore the softness in Victor’s voice, only seconds before. To him, changing clothes never felt so important. He needs to rid himself of the days that have passed. He needs to rid himself of  _ him. _

He closes the door behind him, with a little too much force. As he’s starting to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt, he kind of wishes he had it in him not to hold back. An earth shattering bang would have been more appropriate. A crude telling-off would have also have served its purpose. But that’s not who he is. When hurt, he flees. Hides somewhere to lick his wounds until the ache subsides.

He scoffs when he hears the door open behind him. He can’t believe the cheek, the blatant disregard. How infuriating, absolutely aggravating, utterly enraging it is when Victor just seem to think he has the right to seek him out.

“Leave me alone.” His fingers just can’t feel or undo the buttons as he hears the soft steps behind him. They are hoping for other things, creating a discord within him.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No, you’re not.” He feels hands on his shoulders. They’re making him tense up, making him wish they could just leave him be.

“But I am. I really, really am.”

As the hands start to stroke his arms, he sighs. He lets go of the button he’s been trying to undo and allows his arms hang down his sides, for it’s no use. No use trying when being touched, although he catches himself anticipating the touches which makes him annoyed. No, he’s not there yet nor does he wants to be, he’s not ready at all to meet Victor where he is. It still hurts inside, being backed up into a corner like that.

The fingers stroking him, warm against the side of his neck, makes him sigh. This time, it’s due to other reasons altogether.

“I didn’t mean to,” Victor whispers. “I… I bet you’re meant to be together. I’m sorry.”

“Why would you say such a thing? Why would you even ask… that?” 

“I just wanted to make sure what I’m getting myself into.”

Victor’s breath is hot against his neck. It’s strange how Victor’s priorities seem to have shifted, how he’s suddenly generous with the contact he’s been making sure not to give nor receive. It started out with holding hands and now, he’s being offered the touches he so heatedly sought after. It’s like a reflex, thinking where it will lead, can lead, won’tㅡ 

No, he can barely think straight. 

“We’re not doing this anymore,” he mewls. Victor’s lips are not moving, just resting against his skin behind his ear.

“You know what to say to make it stop. But I want us to continue. We have until tomorrow, after all.”

“I’m not sure if I-ah…”

This is what it feels like to be kissed by him. He can do nothing else than to soak up the teasing sensation of how Victor’s lips drags and sticks to the skin of his neck, leaving a heat and a cold relentlessly fighting for the space the lips just touched. He can do nothing else than run, run together with Victor’s breath when it’s being exhaled onto him. He can do nothing else than to be suspended in a torturous timespace when the electricity is coursing through him, brought on by Victor’s nose skimming across his cheek. 

This is what it feels like to be kissed by him but not being able to do anything as magnificent in return. Not being able to break free of the prison that is himself.

“Hey… that’s you two?” Victor breaks the spell, the tension evaporating as points to the bedside table. Points to a photograph in a somewhat understated frame.

“Yes,” he responds, his eyes stuck to Victor’s outstretched hand instead of the photograph. He doesn’t need to see to know what Victor’s referring to. “Yes, that’s us.”

“You look good together. You really do.” Victor pauses, and breathes slowly through slightly parted lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Get out of here. Let me change clothes.”

Hands on his shoulders turn him around. Fingers on his chin ask him to give. Blue eyes meeting his demand an answer. It’s easy to do, everything but the final request. But as those actions settle within him as well as their symbolism, to turn and to give, it becomes easier to answer.

“Okay. Okay,” he breathes. Not knowing what he’s opening up to by saying those words.

  
**~**~**

 

He’s never shown the city. His day becomes something else entirely. A day, spent in quiet reverence like they’re something else. Something more. 

Like when they’re bundled up on the sofa, him burrowing into Victor who reluctantly accepts to sit still and share the closeness. Like when he starts to trace Victor’s contours underneath his sweater, feeling the muscles he’s touching slowly tensing. Like when he dozes off against Victor’s chest, just seconds after asking Victor to read something out loud from the book he’s been flipping through for ages now. Like when he suddenly realises that they have to eat and starts to make dinner, tormented to leave the warmth and the smell he’s just started to get used to but surprisingly receives again to his contentment, only moments after. That is when he understands that it really has become something else, that arrangement of theirs. Something more. But he doesn’t know what brought it on, although he’s eternally grateful.

“Wait, I… I have a knife! I’m cutting things here!” It’s with a feigned annoyance he says this. How can he possibly do anything else, especially since arms are enclosing him from behind, palms radiating warmth into his chest. Especially with the pressure of a foreign body against his back, making him understand that there’s something there. Somethingㅡ 

“Mhm,” comes the answer, murmured into his shoulder. “I know you’re a dangerous man, Yuuri. I know it all too well.”

He giggles, caught up in the words, in the sensation of Victor breathing through his t-shirt. Maybe this is a good time? A good time to dare, to try and take that leap again. 

“Victor?”

“Mmm?” 

It’s hard not to dare. Hard not to fight for the wish of feeling Victor’s breath on him again and again. So he asks. The question that makes or breaks. “So, um… can’t you stay here? For the night?” In an attempt not to sound needy, he adds, “It’s so impractical for you to go.”

“You’re persistent, aren’t you?” Victor’s face is lost in his hair, deep inhales sounding on top of his head. “Why?”

“As I said it’s impractical. Especially if you feel like, uh… or, no, if we’re going to, I don’t know, see this through?”

“So you want to?” A chuckle escapes Victor and it too gets lost in the forest of black strands. “Are you sure?”

“I am. I… I want to see this through,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to get a glimpse of the specks of blue. Which he does, for a fraction of a second.

“Hm… let’s eat first, then, before I decide. Good decisions are made on the fly. Better ones, on a full stomach. Fair?”

“Fair.” And again, his cheeks burn.

With a low hum, Victor leaves him. Leaves him to cook, to think, to flutter. So he focuses, somewhat, on those three things, interrupted by his heart skipping a beat every time Victor asks where the plates are, where he can find silverware, if it’s okay to choose those drinking glasses. To every question, he answers a ‘yes’. A joyous, resounding yes.

But, the yes he wants to hear in return doesn’t come. Not over dinner, when they end up discussing ways to steep tea. Seems like both Russia and Japan has their customs and because of that, they can’t settle on the absolute truth. But, they both conclude, strawberry jam in a cup of tea is to be considered horribly unorthodox so maybe, just maybe, the Japanese way is to be preferred.

The yes doesn’t come during the washing up, either. The low humming Victor does, probably to a tune he just made up himself, standing with his sleeves neatly folded up and elbow-deep in bubbles, doesn’t reveal his decision. Not even when he joins Victor to manually dry the washed up plates, glasses and silverware, is the answered disclosed.

Unbelievably so, the yes, the coveted answer still hasn’t come when it becomes darker outside. It still hasn’t come when they again have sought refuge in the sofa, when TV acts as a lighthouse that could, in theory, lead them right with its glare. It still hasn’t come when they’re both filled and sated, when one of them very much would like to have seconds despite the fact. Or, at least something sweet to tease the palate.

When he shoots a glance across the sofa, he notices that Victor’s eyes are illuminated by the TV screen. The light of the TV is undoubtedly making them look even paler, even more icily distant than before. It’s strange how mismatched it looks, with those eyes so desaturated but his face so animated, dripping with the colour that contentment and relaxation brings. The programme he’s watching seems to amuse Victor, he huffs every now and then, but since it’s in Russian, there’s no possibility to understand it apart from stray words here and there.

He can’t wait for Victor’s decision, he feels. There’s a worry inside, a worry that Victor might never tell him yes if this, whatever this strange waiting game has turned into, continues. With his heart drumming, almost accelerating inside, he touches Victor’s thigh with his foot.

The icy sheen to Victor’s eyes disappears as he turns his head. The movement makes them gray, almost black in the fading light. Victor’s face is veiled by the darkness, making it hard, if not impossible, to assess his reaction. 

“So…” He says it low, pleased that he’s gotten a reaction from Victor. Although, a very modest one.

Victor doesn’t say anything, though. He shifts, turns a quarter of a rotation and puts his legs and feet up on the cushions. And just like that, Victor reaches out and takes that foot, that brave foot that wanted to do nothing but building a bridge, and holds in in his hands.

Without asking, without so much as looking him in the eye, Victor caresses the sock off. It sounds like he sighs when he does this, like he’s been granted a wish previously untold and unknown, but the small touch made it real and possible. 

Victor’s hands are warm when they are touching the shin. The heel. The sole. It becomes a rhythmic touch, the way Victor’s thumbs dig in from the balls of his foot, across the arch down to the heel. The way Victor’s fingers adds pressure on the midfoot and the ankle as they follow the motion.

A moan escapes him. It feels good. Amazingly good. It’s not just because of the touch, the movements across what he thinks is the most unattractive part of himself, it’s the concentration he sees in the now gray eyes. The silent adoration that is impossible to disregard.

Victor’s lips are smoldering against the thin and delicate skin. But just that. Smoldering, burning with a lot of smoke and no visible flame. He doesn’t want that for him,  _ for them _ . He wants a combustion, an explosion of what he is keeping suppressed inside and can only hope and pray that something even remotely similar exists inside Victor. But he needs him there, first and foremost. He needs to hear him say that he’s going to stay, that he might even consider to sleep next to him. Because that is more than okay, the just sleeping.

He stutters his breath when he feels Victor’s tongue caress the arch of his foot, unforgivable nips acting as a sensational contrast as they follow the hot and slick. He tilts his head back, puts his arm over his face. He can’t watch, he decides. It’s too much, too much more although that’s exactly what he wants. The more. The something else and,  _ yes _ , this is something else.

“Oh? You like that, huh? I’m glad.” Victor continues to explore every irregularity with teeth and tongue, his breath feeling wet against his foot. Victor pauses all of a sudden, says nothing as he guides the naked foot, the toes starting to get cold, to his lips. He just leaves them there, pressed against lips.

They feel warm, so incredibly warm. So soft, bubbly-like. Like they can envelop the world and make it better.

Victor chuckles, somewhere in the darkness outside himself. The darkness he’s escaped by shielding himself with an arm over his face. “Because,” he hears Victor continue, “I like it too.”

It’s hot and wet and slick and smooth. The sensation around his big toe, the way lips and tongue cooperate. He cries out. It’s something in between surprise and pleasure, something that’s more intimate than anything else that has been done to him already. Because, anyone can jerk someone else off in a bathroom stall if given the opportunity. Anyone can take someone else in, throat deep, if there’s an understanding. But this, this is something else. At least to him.

He’s lost somewhere inside himself when his foot is let go, when the bend of his knee gets placed up and around Victor’s shoulder. He doesn’t notice it at first, the way his leg is being flexed at the hip as Victor comes closer, as he presses himself closer. What brings him back, back to feeling sensations on his skin, back to feeling hot and cold, back to feeling pressure and release is the hint of Victor’s chest against his own, Victor’s breath caressing his lips, and maybe, possibly, no definitely, a stray strand of hair touching his cheek.

“Ahh… aah,” he breathes, feeling himself lose his composure and his way. Not only that, he’s slowly losing perception of who he is, for the words that follow next weren’t planned. And bound to complicate things.

“I love you!” He calls out into the darkness he’s been hiding behind, and when he does it feels right. Like there’s no other truer truth he could ever let pass over his lips. But, when the words have left the room, when he’s starting to come down, when everything becomes strangely still and deprived of, well, anything, he feels the words inside. The meaning of them. 

He removes his arm from his face and slowly opens his eyes then, horrified. He knows that the arrangement isn’t about that. Or maybe, it has everything to do with that. 

Victor’s not touching him anymore, he’s not so wonderfully,  _ teasingly _ , close and that becomes brutally clear as his leg plops down on the cushions of the sofa. The only thing Victor does is to sit upright with eyes dominated by white instead of blue, large and bewildered. It looks like he’s about to say something, maybe do something else with his mouth as well due to the way it just can’t remain still. But nothing else happens, other than Victor’s reply finally claiming the room.

“This… this was unexpected.”

“No! I-I, no, I didn’t mean it! Victor, I… I take it back! I take it back!” He wants to grab hold of Victor, but he uses the final sliver of restraint left in him because he’s afraid it’ll make it worse. His head follows the movements Victor makes, and ends up being tilted backwards when Victor finally stands and walks away for a few steps. His back is turned to him, and it looks like he’s covering his mouth with a hand. Like his shoulders are billowing for some reason.

“I take it back!” He calls out again, desperate to undo the damage he knows he’s done. “I swear, I didn’t mean it! Stay here, Victor! Please!”

He watches as Victor’s hand falls down to his side. But Victor doesn’t turn around. He speaks to him over his shoulder, or more like to the air in the room, sounding like he’s battling two extremes, two polar opposites that can’t possibly exist at the same time. “This would end it for me, you realise that? Yuuri?” 

He doesn’t need Victor to tell him that, he knows that too. Somewhere inside, at least. Although he doesn’t want to. “I… I know, but I don’t, I mean, I never… I never meant it! It just happened!”

“I guess we should say our goodbyes now, don’t you think?” 

Hearing the cheer in Victor’s voice makes him desperate. The cheer is worse than the disappointment he caught on from before. “No! No, I… stay, I’ll do anything! Anything!”

“ _ Anything _ ? You’d do anything to make me stay? Well, well, Yuuri… You know how to make me gape after hook, line and sinker, don’t you? Fair enough. If I tell you that you’ve… frustrated me, annoyed me, disobeyed me today, then… what would your response be?”

It feels like a slap across the face, the way those words are delivered with the same cheer as before. Still, not to his face but right out in the air. It’s like Victor enjoys it, enjoys to make him uncomfortable and awkward. But then again… he probably has done those things? Frustrated, annoyed and disobeyed him. Maybe it’s fair?

“I… I should be punished. Somehow,” he whispers. “For making you feel that way.”

“Oh? Oh-hoh, Yuuri… In what way?”

“In… in any way you’d like?”

“You say that hesitantly. Tell you what, you come up with something suitable. Something worthy of your indiscretions so far. Then, we’ll discuss if the evening will continue with a night and… a morning the following day.”

He swallows. Thinks for a few seconds that seem to multiply into a moment unending before it comes to him. The most suitable punishment, for being so gluttonous. For wanting and taking. For forgetting where his heart is, where it belongs. Although it’s a punishment made to make him understand the consequences, he doesn’t want to carry it alone. He’s wants Victor to feel it to, to understand what his offer, his arrangement, has become.

So when he speaks, it’s with conviction. Again, it’s one of those rare truer truths that stumbles out of him. One he knows will create ripples not only through him, but through Victor as well.

“I want you to make me forget about him.” His eyes are locked on a specific spot between Victor’s shoulder blades when he says this, and he can tell that his words made something happen underneath that cool and distant façade. He sees the tension in Victor’s shoulders, how his hands become fists.

“What did you say?”  _ How Victor’s voice becomes a challenge. _

“You heard me. I want you to make me forget about him.”

“It’ll only be temporary.”

“I know.”

“Do you think he’s going to get hurt?”

“I’m not sure.”

“This doesn’t sound like much of a punishment, does it?”

“It depends.”

“Oh? ‘It depends’?”

“Yes. On how much I’ve angered you. What you… um, decide to do.”

The sound of Victor turning around, the soft rustle of his clothes as they try to keep up with his movements, takes over the room. Dark, almost black eyes meet his. Victor’s backlit figure is coming just one step closer.

“You’re a branded man, Yuuri.”

“Yes,” he almost gasps.

“You don’t think it’s wrong?”

He doesn’t have an answer. It is wrong, but how can he look the other way when everything inside him calls out to the man in front of him? He has spent days fanning that flame, to make it willing to consume on its own accord and now, he’s going to smother it by giving in. It’s the only way to make it stop, he figures. And that is his punishment.  _ Their _ punishment, even. To give in and accept the losses that undoubtedly will follow.

Victor’s touch builds against his cheek. Fingertips, fingers, palms. He is in his hands. And he feels comfortable with knowing that, feeling that.

“Are you going to stay?” He leans into the touch as he tilts his head to the side. The touch intensifies with fingers digging in, the palm pressing against him.

“Maybe.”

“Spend the night?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Can… can I touch you?”

Victor laughs and fires off a smile that makes him thankful that he’s already sitting down. He feels weak, and not only at the knees. It’s like he’s melting, becoming something that Victor is free to mold. Come to think of it, he’s never been more eager for anything to happen. To be in Victor’s hands hand, to feel Victor in his.

“You must, or else you won’t be able to forget.” Victor lets him go and throws a glance across the room before he finds his eyes again. “Bed?”

The way his heart cramps up inside his chest makes him unable to do anything else than to nod, so he does. He nods as he gets pulled up on his feet by his elbow, he nods as Victor’s hands touches the back of his thighs, he nods when he feels Victor’s hands on his ass as he crosses his legs behind him.

He’s ready to make a new memory. He’s ready to forget.

  
**~**~**

 

He doesn’t want his feet to touch the floor. He wants to stay just like that, clambering on, elevated, touched and held. Inside, he shudders, and not only due to the fact that he’s allowed to be close to Victor. There’s a battle raging inside him, with combatants too many to count.

Of course his feet end up touching the floor eventually and when they do, blue eyes touch his. He wants to touch too, touch more than blue mirrors of the soul but something stops him. Maybe it’s the admonitions from before, maybe it’s him who’s holding back thinking about the consequences. No matter the reason, he falters and stands with a beating heart and lungs needing more, so much more than air to fill them.

“First,” Victor says, in a low and steady voice, “you must take your clothes off. Start with your t-shirt, then your jeans.”

“You’re not going to?” It’s an almost silently posed question, one followed by a sense of disappointment.

“No. This is supposed to be a punishment, right? I can’t do what you want me to, that would just be self-indulgent.”

But I thouㅡ“

“Shh. No talking unless I ask you to. Show me how bad you want me to stay. If you convince me, we’ll see what… happens.”

He nods, but his head is filling up with questions. He wants to ask every single question that fits inside the small words, the powerful words, of what, why, if and how. For instance,  _ what _ does Victor want?  _ What  _ does he want for himself?  _ What _ will happen?  _ Why _ did he say three little words, words meant for lovers?  _ Why _ has he agreed to this arrangement in the first place?  _ Why _ is he suddenly feeling scared, like he’s a small boy trying to love for the first time?  _ If  _ they end up losing themselves in each other,  _ how  _ can he let it go? Let  _ him _ go?

But he does what he’s told, because that’s how he works. He’s a person who takes what is offered without questioning, he’s not the one who really asks. He takes instructions well, he finds safety and solace in the fact of disconnecting his mind with his body. Not having to be the one in charge.

He picks at the hem of his t-shirt and starts to pull if over his head. As he’s about to emerge from the white restraint the t-shirt really is, he hears Victor mumble a question.

“Would  _ he  _ do  _ this _ ?”

He gasps as he feels Victor’s mouth against his stomach. Lips nipping, teeth biting and tongue lapping. Fingers tracing his side. Oh, he really would do that, he thinks to himself. So, he answers truthfully on a fleeting exhale.

“Yes! Yes, he-he would.”

“Wrong.” Victor’s voice sounds soft, acting as a bewildering contrast as he is forced down on the bed face first. Victor’s hand is unrelenting as it grips the back of his neck, pushing him down into the mattress. “You’re not allowed to remember anything about him.”

He doesn’t fight him. It’s not who he is, for he is pliant and controllable. Molded by the hands that are on him. And he likes it. Loves to not be the one who’s in control.

“Tell me, Yuuri,” Victor whispers in his ear, “would he do this to you?”

He feels Victor’s free hand find its way to the button of his jeans. Even though he’s on his stomach, Victor’s hand has no problems undoing it together with the fly, teasing as it breaches the divide his underwear makes.

“Y-yes!”

He feels the hands disappear from holding him down, from enticing him, as he realises he’s being turned around.

“Wrong. Take them off,” Victor growls as he leans in and bites his lower lip. Hard.

He whines a little when his lip is being released back to him, when he tastes the iron in his mouth. But he squirms his way out of his jeans and finds himself having Victor on top of himself within a heartbeat.

“Would he do this to you?”

Victor’s tongue in his mouth, pressing against his own longing tongue, makes his body react instantly. He feels the surge of passion in the pit of his stomach, it wants to claw its way out of him and does so by making him moan into Victor’s parted lips. 

But Victor doesn’t stop. It becomes a hot, messy and insatiable kiss with mouths open, tongues needing more pressure, strained breaths in between. One where he actually dares to put trembling fingers against Victor’s elbows. And when he does, Victor breaks away and commands him to look at him with no words at all.

He nods in response, because he would do that to him. The one that has branded him, marked him as his. He really would kiss the life out of him, make his soul his own without a second thought.

“Say it.”

He swallows after he sucks his lower lip dry from the metallic taste. Almost under his breath, he answers. “Yes.”

“Wrong.” 

The knee that gets pressed onto his sternum makes it hurt. His hands automatically ends up on Victor’s knee. It’s a reflex, an action of self-preservation. But also, a chance being taken at the best possible time. 

“Hands off. Not until I say so,” he hears Victor say with that lavishingly soft voice as the pressure builds against his chest, as he feels something creak inside. “ _ Good boy _ . He must have lots of fun with you, huh? You’re amazing with instructions.”

His hands becomes fists as he watches Victor take his sweater off, revealing all of that he’s been lusting for since that morning. All of that he’s managed to get unsatisfyingly brief glimpses of. Broad shoulders, toned chest, muscles playing underneath the taut skin across the abdomen. 

“Oh, look at you. Gripping the sheets like that. Yuuri, you like this. I can tell.” Victor tosses the sweater nonchalantly onto the floor before his hands undo the button of his jeans, and instantly, the garment starts to travel even lower on his hips. But it fights, struggles to defy gravity with everything it can muster.

He doesn’t know where to look. At that face with an expression that doesn’t match the actions done to him, at that knee that’s digging in more and more with every heartbeat, at that almost god-like body looking like marble in the dim light. Or… at what’s still clothed but almost exposed. He feels his cheeks heat up as his eyes decide where they want to look. But not from embarrassment, far from it. His body is reacting to the unspoken promise of being allowed to see that. Feel that in some way, since it’s not restrained underneath that hateful layer of denim. Oh, he could feel it against him, maybe? In his hands, if he’s lucky? Or maybeㅡ

The pressure on his chest disappears and Victor’s naked feet make a soft sound when they tread across the floor. Just a few steps, to the bedside table where the photo is. He watches him, watches as he puts the photo face down before he opens the drawer.

“Hey, what areㅡ” He knows that he needn’t ask. He knows what’s in that drawer, but the fact that Victor is disregarding that aspect of privacy makes him feel the need to say something at least. Strange, how that feels more important than the fact that the photo got turned face down.

“Shh. You were doing so good too, Yuuri. You have almost convinced me to stay. Such a good boy.”

The sound of the wrapper being torn makes his heart race. The vision of Victor rolling the edge down his finger makes his breathing stop. The way the cap of the tube comes off with a click ends the last chance he had of ever thinking straight. He needs, he wants, he yearns as the small cues are creating the bigger picture. The picture he’s been seeing on the inside of his eyelids with every blink, no matter how short. He needs to step inside that picture, make it real. Make himself feel what his eyes have already seen.

“So, Yuuri…”

He moans when he feels Victor’s hand find its way underneath his underwear, between his legs. The cold, dripping slickness of the lubricant against the inside of his thigh. The pressure against the opening.

“He asks before he does this to you, I take it? Before he slides anything in? Maybe, he says something like ‘Is it okay, honey? You want to, right’, to which you respondㅡ” 

“ _ Yes! Please! _ ” 

He doesn’t know what surprises him the most. The finger being pressed into him or the hand that closes itself around his throat. It’s a stinging kind of pain, a pain that is not only good. It’s sensational. He shudders, quakes, as he understands this. He wants more of it, of around and against him.

“I’m not going to ask. I’m just going to, and when I do, feel free to touch me.” 

Victor’s eyes devour him as his gaze starts to travel, taking every bit of him in its possession. When the eyes stop, when Victor has turned his head slightly, he commands him anew. This time, his voice is stern. Not at all caressing and caring.

“Take them off.”

Those blue eyes are narrowed now, unrelenting and sure when they go back up along his body and finally find his.

“ _ Take. Them. Off. _ ”

The pressure builds around his throat, slightly, but he doesn’t feel fear. He feels ecstasy, euphoria.  _ Rapture. _

As his fingers tighten around the waistband of his underwear, he hears Victor hiss. He feels Victor’s voice resound within him as he springs free, as he lifts his hips and feels Victor’s hand follow his lead. Feels pleasure course through him as Victor’s finger moves inside, brushing against his undoing.

He manages to get a leg out of the constraints that is his underwear, and as he does, the hand around his throat disappears and finds its way down his chest and stomach. The fingers trace him, every curve and irregularity until they close themselves around him. 

It feels divine to have Victor’s hand around him like that, moving slow and purposefully. It’s too slow for him to come, but fast enough to take away the sting when another finger finds its way inside him, testing his boundaries and trying to make way. 

When the pace is finally upped and their breaths are starting to sound like one, perfectly in synch, he realises he wants Victor to look at him. When his hand moves closer to Victor’s, the one gripping and not stretching, he get’s a curt ‘don’t’ in return. But no eyes. No blue eyes he desperately wants to lose himself in in order to forget. The frustration in building inside him, making him hungry. Ravenous and impatient, with every push and pull being done to him.

When Victor shifts, when the hand around him finally lets go, he feels jubilant. The moment is about to become real, it has to.

“Give me your hand,” he hears Victor say through his passionate haze. He does, at least he thinks he does, and feels Victor’s teeth scrape across the back of his hand, his wrist and his ring finger. Seeing his brand between Victor’s teeth, playfully caressed by his tongue makes it perfectly clear.

“Now, we can both forget,” Victor says distortedly through a sigh as he pulls his fingers out of him, leans over to the nightstand and, probably, spits the ring out on the wooden surface with a clink. 

Within a heartbeat, Victor’s between his legs with his jeans halfway down his thighs, hands massaging himself slick and ready. It doesn’t take long before Victor’s hands are on him, his knees, his thighs, his hips. Silently prying him open, sliding himself closer. That’s when their eyes meet, in that magical fraction of a second, when intentions are finally known. Finally voiced out in the open. 

“Now, you’re mine.”

 

**~**~**

 

Flesh colliding with flesh. Oohs and aahs. Strained and ragged breaths. The smell of lacking inhibition, of sex in all possible meanings of the word, lingers together with the sweet scent of lubrication and the musky tang of sweat.

The first few seconds are nothing but full of bliss, that disabling sensation of cease-to-be that makes a corporeal union so coveted, so heatedly desireable. But he wants more. He wants it to be something else. Needs it to, now that it has come to this. 

He feels Victor’s hands on his hips, pulling him closer and closer onto him. Like he wants him to be filled, filled to the verge of bursting with speeding movements. He realises what’s missing, then forgetting, then finding his truth again as the rhythm continues. Victor’s eyes are closed, not at all inviting to make it what it could be. For it could be real. So incredibly real.

“W-wait,” he cries as his hands are trying to find the ones on his hips. The ones pulling him closer, threatening to leave a shattering conclusion in their wake.

“N-no, I need this, I need, I need toㅡ”

He latches on. Wraps his legs around Victor’s waist and ends the momentum, making them both stop and fall. Victor is slippery and heavy on top of him, breathing fire on him with his words.

“Why would you do that? Why would you fucking doㅡ”

He silences him. Not with the fingers that are latching on to that scorching skin, drawing pink and red marks along the way. He silences him with his mouth, doing what he’s been constantly thinking of ever since they came to an agreement. Although it’s like a juvenile kiss at first, just a mouth pressed onto another, it relaxes them both. Makes them sigh. Makes them stop, really stop and savor the moment.

The kiss then evolves. Becomes something else than just a pair of lips planted on another pair. It becomes a meeting, one that does not only a second take, but a third, a fourth, a fifth. Suddenly, their lips are feeling each other, tasting each other like they were the sweetest wine. And just like wine, every sip becomes more intoxicating. Filling their heads with that greedy need that screams for just another mouthful. Just one.

He takes command by opening his mouth some more. Adding just a little pressure, a little tongue. The reaction is explosive. Not only against his mouth, but between his legs. It’s a force that meets him, both up top and down below, one that makes them both moan unintelligible things through the lips of the other, praising and cursing all the same. And just like that, in that heated mess of hands, words, lips, tongues and moans, he finds himself on top of him, of  _ Victor _ , feeling himself accept the entirety of him inside.

Movement, oh so slow. So distressingly slow, torturous and cruel. Just the slightest angle of the hips, a gentle rocking back and forth. He wants more, he wants all he could possibly be offered, have, take, steal or borrow, but in due time, he figures. Not until he’s given the perfect circumstance. 

“He’s so good to me, Victor,” he sighs between the rolls of his hips. “The way he makes me laugh, the way he’s, ngh, always there. He’s… he’s unforgettable.”

“Yuu…” 

“How he’s the fast when I ask for slow... Aaah… He, ooh, he’s so good. So amazingly good. Victor?”

“God, Yuuri…”

“I know… You, you’re not doing what you said you wouhh… Aaahn…”

“Move. Please, move. Faster.”

“One thing he always does, one thing that, aaah! He lets me touch him, he touches me. He looks at me. He always loohh… looks at me when we do this…”

“Would you like that, huh? For me to look at you, touch you? Anything, just…  _ fucking move already. _ ”

“Sit up,” he says as he’s moving slightly faster, making his point come across. “Sit up and look at me.”

“I’ll look. I’ll look at you, Yuuri,” Victor moans as he does what’s been asked of him.

As he gets pulled close by Victor, one hand tugging at the bend of his knee and the other pressing against the hollow of his back, he feels Victor’s chest against his own. It’s warm, burning, and still wet to the touch. Victor’s body is strumming his yearning through the heartbeats and the expanding stomach that invades, time and time again.

This is what he wants. His hands in that silver hair. Unlimited access to that mouth, that mouth that yet have to disappoint. Needy hands all over. But most of all, he wants that blue pair of eyes to look at him. Look and never look away. When they do, when they finally do look, he moves, lost in them. Lost in him. Hoping that he’ll never find his way back.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel like they’re one. Like they’re one entity that cannot be swayed into fighting for anything else than reach the higher purpose. As he feels the build inside, he reaches for Victor’s back, desperate to find something to hold on to while Victor’s hands disappear before they beg for him to go faster, helping him to make it so by grabbing, pulling, teaching him a frantic new pace.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuu~ri!”

“Don’t, just…”

“I’m close! I’m so close! Just, just… ”

“Aah, don’t stop, Victor! More, mooah…”

“Yuuri, love, I love you! Cominghh, aah! Aah, Yuuㅡ”

“I do, I do too, Viㅡ”

When they are entwined, spent and lost in the vibrating and fragile remains of their mutual achievement, he focuses on their collective breathing. How they keep the same in-out-in-out frequency for the longest time without ever slowing down. Strange, that. How they just can’t seem to come down. To settle in what they’ve created.

He’s starting to drift off, he feels. Taken by his release, the revelation. The rapture, as it were. He senses fingers brushing against his forehead and he tries to look but his eyelids are heavy. Too heavy to open. But his mind works somewhat, his voice does too, kind of, although he would like for them to just be silent and savor the moment. But inside, he knows. The end is nigh.

“Wh-what time is it?”

“Don’t mind. It’s morning soon.”

“Are youㅡ”

“Yeah. I’m about to. Oh, don’t forget to put your ring back on, okay? He’d be disappointed if it’s not where he left it, I’m sure.”

“Mm… What happens now?”

“We’re done, simple as that.”

“What if I want toㅡ”

“Do this again, you mean? That’s adorable.”

He hears Victor laugh, but since he can’t get his eyes to open up for the life of him, he can’t really assess the situation. If Victor’s making fun of him or not.

“Victor?”

“No. Sleep, Yuuri.”

“One more request?” 

“What?”

“Stay in bed until I fall asleep,” he yawns.

“You don’t need me for that, you’re already asleep! But sure, I’ll stay. If you obey me, and I want you to be silent. Nod if you understand.”

He nods and sighs deeply when arms wrap themselves around him from behind, when heat seeps into his back, when slow and steady breaths cool the nape of his neck. He doesn’t think about what he has forgotten, only about what he wants to remember, when sleep finally claims him.

 

**~**~**

 

A kiss that sets his soul on fire is what makes him reconnect with him. The one that’s his, the one who branded him. A touch to the cheek is what makes him remember what he previously tried to forget. A soft ‘hello’ whispered into his ear is what makes the magic disappear, what makes him leave the land of make believe, like it was never there to begin with.

He offers him breakfast, it’s more like lunch considering the time of day, but is graciously declined with a smile, a waning touch and a ‘I really need to shower’.

“So, how was your weekend,” he hears him call from the bathroom. “Uneventful?”

“Very. And yours?”

“You know, same old same old. I’m going to take a shower now, okay? Want to join me?”

“No, I’m good. I showered this morning. Take your time.”

“You sure you don’t want to come? There’s always room for one more.”

“Silly. No, I… I kind of have to do something first. I’ll come later, if you’re not done by the time I’m done.”

“Okay, your loss.”

He hears the bathroom door close with a soft click and then, he waits. Waits for the water to start running and waits for another minute or so to make sure that he can at least try. When he hears the water run, he leans against the back of the sofa. Making sure that he’s got an undisturbed view of the bathroom door. Just to be safe.

He finds the number in his call list and is surprised by hearing a dialling tone. That was not what he was expecting. He thought that the number would have expired immediately when they parted. Just like the memories threaten to do if he doesn’t nurture them by bringing them back.

Five, six andㅡ

_ “Hello?” _

“Vi-Victor?”

_ “Speaking. Hello, Yuuri.” _

That voice, that low rumble in his ear does things to him, he realises. He is off balance, soft and pliant once again. And his voice gives it away, the way it trembles slightly when he tries to find his bearings. “Hi. I, uh… I kind ofㅡ”

_ “Wanted to see if it wasn’t a dream? How flattering!” _

“No, I just… I kind of wanted to, uh…”

_ “Is he home?” _

“Yes.” 

_ “Oh, aren’t you uninhibited! What makes you this bold, considering your outburst yesterday?” _

“I was thinking of you and suddenly, I realised that you, kind of, owe me something.”

_ “And I was under the impression that I’ve been very generous with you.” _ Victor’s voice sounds sharp all of a sudden. _ “What makes you say that?” _

“Remember when we, no, when I took it back? What I said?”

_ “Yes?” _

“You didn’t, so…”

_ “Oh.” _

“Yes.”

_ “So you’re telling me that I… Shit. That means that I do owe you something, huh? You feel like you want to hold me to that promise? Even though your man is at home?” _

“Yes.” Why doesn’t that small, smoldering just give up? Why does it keep on fighting, waiting and wanting to be fed? It wants to flare up again, and he wants it to. Needs it to.

_ “What makes you feel like you can talk to me if he’s home?” _

“He’s in the shower. He’ll probably be out soon so I need to know how to do this. How to claim what’s mine.”

_ “Hm. We could talk about it, although not right now? Would that be okay?” _

“Butㅡ”

_ “Yuuri. This was a one time thing. We both understood that when going into this arrangement, right?” _

“Yes. I did but that doesn’t mean that I think thatㅡ”

_ “Yes, I hear you. But that was the deal.” _

“Victor? I… I had fun. No, it was so much more, it was beyond that. I liked you, what we did and… I still don’t regret inviting you to my home.” He hears the water being turned off from inside the bathroom and prepares himself to hang up, but is surprised by the bathroom door being opened way too soon. “I loved it,” he whispers.

“I, for one, enjoyed myself. Thoroughly.”

“I know you did. We still have to talk about your… indescretion.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“I was under the impression that your man was about to get out of the shower?”

“He already did.”

As their eyes meet, brown welcoming blue furtively, smiles spread out on both of their faces. It’s like watching sunshine breaking through a thick and cloudy sky, longed for and tranquil. He chases that stillness, adding to it, by opening his arms to welcome Victor in. To feel him close without the pressure to think about what to say and what to do, to revel in the fact that they can finally just  _ be _ , makes his entire body skip the beats his heart forgets to make. 

He tightens his arms around Victor with a sigh. Victor’s wet after his hurried and probably badly executed shower. As he kisses his stomach, he can still feel a faint taste of bodywash, making his theory proven. There’s nothing more to say about their arrangement, he figures, but he decides to do it anyway, peering up as drops of water lands on his forehead and glasses.

“So…”

“So?”

“Where were you on Friday morning?”

“Impromptu meeting with the sponsors. Sorry, love. I tried to call it off but it was impossible.”

“Oh… You made me worry. Also, you didn’t have to be so brutal, Victor. Saying stuff like that, making me feel dirty.  _ Unfaithful _ .”

Victor shrugs with a low laugh. “I thought it was fun. The result was fantastic.”

“Don’t. Ever again, you hear? I was so angry with you!” He pinches Victor’s side to make his point come across.

“Ow! Duly noted, let go!” Victor rubs the, now blushing, area with his fingers as he continues, “You weren’t in character then?”

“Of course not! How could I possibly be?”

It’s comforting, the small half circle Victor’s thumb traces just below his glasses. They remain like that for a moment, his face in Victor’s hands and Victor between his legs, studying each other. Remembering but not forgetting. Never forgetting.

“I wasn’t too rough with you?” Victor’s thumb gently rubs his lower lip.

“About the ‘I love you’?”

“No. About the punishment. Shit, Yuuri… I didn’t expect that from you.”

“It… it was okay. Fine.” He looks away, feeling his cheeks prickle. “Great even,” he says, almost inaudibly.

He feels Victor tense up, hears him inhale with a hiss.

“Wow… ‘ _ Great, even’ _ , huh,” Victor repeats.

“Y-yeah…”

When Victor pulls him close, hands tangled up in his hair and stroking it to praise, console, maybe even ask for forgiveness, it’s apparent that Victor’s pulse is quickened. The thumps find a slow rhythm after a while, and that’s when Victor finally speaks anew. With his matter-of-factly voice, the one he tends to use when he thinks he’s got the upper hand.

“Although… Yuuri,  _ you  _ said it first. It should have been over and done for but you insisted. As far as I see it,  _ you _ lost.”

“You were the one wanting to ‘see it through’. Stop being silly.” He peers up at him with a frown. “It was never over. And you said it. And meant it.”

“You don’t play fair, honey. Okay. Okay. Let’s  _ pretend  _ I see you as the winner. What would you ask for?”

He laughs and pushes himself out of Victor’s embrace. With a beckoning motion, he asks Victor to lean down. He gives Victor a peck on the cheek before he whispers into his ear, before he reveals what he’s been thinking of ever since he drifted off to sleep while being in Victor’s arms. The smile that takes over Victor’s face when he looks at him, makes him think that he’s still got a chance. A chance to make Victor do the begging in a possible encore.

 

**~the end~**


End file.
